It Goes Both Ways
by nubiem
Summary: Six years into their relationship, Hermione realises that she and Ron have lost the spark that got them together in the first place and the passion that kept things interesting. With separate lives to be lead, this is what happens when a familiar face becomes an all too regular fixture in Hermione's work life. EWE, Draco/Hermione, M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but a large number of student loans and four different Scrabble sets. In other words, all the characters and worlds are the property of other, much wealthier, people and I am not making any money from this story. This will be the only time I post this full disclaimer.**

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**A/N: Hi, everyone! **

**After a break from Dramione (I say break, but what I mean is that I didn't post anything and instead invested my time in just writing out a few tens of thousands of words of them so I could have something finished before I started putting it up), I'm back with a new story. This is completed, with updates scheduled to be once a week for you all. There'll be SIX chapters in total, which gives me six weeks to keep working on some new longer stories before I start posting those. If I am at all capable of time management, I'll hopefully put up a one shot or two.**

**As for the content of this story, **_**I am aware characters may be OOC**_**. This is because I wanted kind of a fluffy, light story, because the other Dramione fics I'm working on aren't all sunshine and roses. That said, what we see of Hermione and Draco is all through Harry's eyes, and we still know quite little about what they were like post-war, so I don't think my interpretation is too far gone from canon. But keep in mind this is fluff, this is smut, and this is basically a whole lot of Dramione fun.**

**I hope you all enjoy chapter one and let me know what you think in a REVIEW!**

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Ron was out of bed with the water running in the shower before she even had a chance to realise their morning quickie was over, rumpled sheets and boxers the only thing left in his wake. Hermione fell against her pillow, totally unsatisfied, having been on the brink before he finished and pulled out.

Life had been this way for nearly three months. Their sex life was active, liaising at least four times a week, but she hadn't finished in what felt like a lifetime. The frustration was beginning to build up, and she had never been one able to get herself off with much ease.

"Babe, can you put the kettle on?" Ron's voice floated into the bedroom with steam from the bathroom. "Thanks."

Ron. Lovely, sweet, stubborn Ronald. _Her_ lovely, sweet, stubborn Ronald seemed totally oblivious to her lack of completion, having always been so caught up in his own pleasure during their romps. Although, it was partly her fault. She had become prone to faking it so as to not damage his self-esteem, but it hadn't always been this way. In the beginning, when they had first consummated their relationship, he had driven her crazy. Somewhere along the line (Hermione hated to think about it in public for it always brought colour to her cheeks) he had refined his technique in a way that he knew precisely where and how to touch her so set fireworks off behind her eyes.

Hermione followed in her boyfriend's footsteps, rolling out of their bed and wrapping a sheet around her body as she moved through their tiny flat and into the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and turning the stove on. With her back to the doorway, she didn't realise Ron had entered the room until his bare chest was against her back, pulling her body against his own. His chest was still damp, a towel hung from his hips.

Reacting with instinct, mingled with the echo of her sexual frustration, Hermione wiggled her arse against his body as his arms encircled her. They were stronger, firmer than they ever had been at school. Hell, his whole body was firmer than it had ever been in Hermione's memory. The Auror Training Program he and Harry were participating in required a strict physical regime to ensure they were at their absolute peak, and Hermione was more than happy to reap the rewards of the intense training sessions.

"Not now, babe," Ron stepped away before Hermione had even truly begun, grabbing the whistling kettle off the stove to pour himself a tall cup of tea. "I've got to get to work."

It took a great deal of her strength not to slam her fist against the counter in frustration, but she doubted Ron would even have noticed her if she _had_ done that. Instead, Hermione, sheet tucked tightly around her body, vanished from the kitchen and into the bathroom, locking the door.

By the time her hair was freshly shampooed and her body clean, Ron had already left for work, though it was barely half past seven. After six years of schooling where she had nearly been resorted to forcing him to finish assignments and go to class, having Ron so enthused about work was something she was struggling to get used to.

She had opted out of a permanent position at the Ministry after a year and a half of pencil pushing, choosing instead to invest the small amount in her Gringotts account in a second-hand bookstore in Diagon Alley. Whilst the shop earned her enough to pay rent on both the flat and the store, there wasn't much left over. Thankfully, she was able to run the shop without any hired help, and Ron's salary was able to afford their other living expenses.

After years of adhering to the rules of Hogwarts, and then to the rules of the Ministry, Hermione was in love with the freedom owning her own store allowed. She could wear her comfiest clothes, take a lunch break whenever she so desired, and she was surrounded by that pleasant musty smell which only second-hand books provided. Fortunately enough, her store, whilst maintaining a steady flow of customers, was really never that busy, giving her all the time in the world to stop and have a cup of tea and relax with a good book whilst quiet customers milled about, flicking through books, taking their time.

Dressed in light blue jeans and a grey sweater, Hermione made herself a quick cup of tea to chase down her toast with, stocking her bag as she went around the apartment. When the latest edition of _Hogwarts: A History _had been stashed into her bag (she just hadn't been able to shake her love of the book), she grabbed her wand, twirled on the spot, and apparated to the stockroom of her store.

Back here looked more like a hoarder's apartment, with teetering piles of books stacked in every available space, no clear order to them. It was the messiest part of her life, and Hermione just adored spending time surrounded by the chaos. But for now, she was due to open in two minutes, so she wound her way through the piles and to the shop front, flicking her wand to turn the sign from CLOSED to OPEN.

As always, business was slow for a Monday morning. With students having started back at schools just a couple of weeks prior, she wasn't expecting many customers until lunchtime. Settling down behind her counter with a cup of tea and her book, she waited until almost eleven o'clock for a patron. Two elderly witches, gossip on their breath, shuffled in and each bought a selection of Muggle cookbooks.

Hermione had opted to go back to her roots and set up a small amount of Muggle books for sale, ranging from classic novels to stories for children in an attempt to integrate the magical community with the non-magical counterparts. The move had proved to be surprisingly successful, with plenty of wizards and witches delighted at the new reading material. Muggle cookbooks had been especially popular, sometimes selling out before she could get new stock in, and she had been considering starting a section for Muggle magazines to try and teach her magical cohorts some more.

Her third customer was a daily usual, clad in an expensive tailored suit with his hair artfully tousled. Draco Malfoy had certainly grown up and filled out since their schooldays, now one of the youngest barristers in the Wizamagot since the institution's installation. After his family's official pardon from the Ministry following the war, he had gone on to help convict near to a hundred of his Death Eater brethren, showing no mercy in his prosecution. On top of that, he had inherited a large portion of the family fortune and proceeded to donate it to several charities aiding the people who had been so badly affected.

As if his professional life wasn't enough, Hermione had seen his face plastered across the covers of several prominent magazines as Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor, Warlock Monthly's Most Personable Public Person, and had been splashed across countless headlines in The Daily Prophet to celebrate his reformation. Since his change, Draco had also become a regular customer at her bookstore, sometimes coming inside to buy something, but more recently he would just pop in for a chat and sometimes bring her a new book to read.

"Business booming as usual, Granger," he commented, leaning on the front counter and glancing around the empty store. He smirked at her scowl and glanced over the tabletop to see what she was reading. "_Hogwarts: A History_? Really? I'd swear on Slytherin's soul that you have every bloody edition of that book and have read them all cover to cover at least five times."

"I highly doubt Slytherin ever had a soul for you to swear on," Hermione prodded and closed her book.

"Little high strung today," Draco smirked. "Weasley not up to scratch or something?"

"Ronald is perfectly adequate, thank you very much," Hermione snapped through pursed lips. She stopped and sighed, tangling her fingers through her hair as she pulled it off the back of her neck and into a haphazard ponytail. "Sorry. I shouldn't have been so sharp with you. It was uncalled for."

"I was joking, Granger, but your response leads me to believe their might have been at least a grain of truth to what I was saying," Draco said. He recoiled slightly at her glare. "No matter. It's none of my concern."

"You're right about that one," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "But in case you were wondering, thinking about usurping my place in my relationship or whatever, Ron is a _superb_ lover."

Draco's already alabaster skin paled a few more shades, taking on a slightly green tinge. "You can keep Weasley to yourself," he assured her. "And you know what, Granger? Whenever you lie, you roll your eyes just beforehand, which leads me to believe that your ginger boy toy isn't quite..._satisfying_ you."

"You're so crude," Hermione sighed. "I haven't a clue how Astoria puts up with it."

"Crude words aren't the only thing I can do with my tongue."

"You're awful," she said with a shake of her head. "Now are you going to buy something or should I Floo Ron and tell him you're sexually harassing me?"

"No need, Granger," Draco said and held up his hands, palms facing her. "I've got to get back to work. It's been fun, though. A real riot. I should sexually harass you more often."

"Pig," Hermione smiled as he departed with a wave. Two patrons had entered during their discussion, one arriving at the counter moments after Draco's exit with a stack of books in his arms. Grin still on her face, Hermione sold the books with a smile and returned to her own text.

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"Babe?"

"In the kitchen!" Hermione replied, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear and looking up for Ron. He had undone the top few buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, much more disheveled than Draco, with his hair sticking up and his grin lazily stretched across an unshaven face. Realising where her thoughts were leading, she shook the image of her former schoolyard rival out of her head. "Good day?"

"Long," he said, moving and grasping her around the waist from behind. He pressed a small kiss to her jaw.

She had set herself up in the kitchen with a glass of red wine and a series of takeaway menus spread out on the counter. It was between Chinese and Indian when Ron came home and he immediately picked up the menu from their local Chinese restaurant. "I'm too tired to cook tonight," Hermione said, standing up straight to lean against the warmth of his chest when he tossed the menu back down.

"I'm good with takeaway," he agreed, moving his arms to hug her from behind, a series of light kisses pressed along the line of her jaw and up to her temple.

Though the interaction was relatively innocent, Hermione responded by pushing herself flush against her boyfriend's chest, body ultra-sensitive. She blamed her orgasm-free morning (and the past three months) for her reaction. She felt the deep rumble of Ron's chuckle in his chest before it came from his lips and he mirrored her movements, pressing himself against her body in response and letting his hands wander from her waist, up and down her sides.

"Dinner can wait a little bit," Ron said, hands already fumbling with the button on her jeans. Hermione sighed, breathy, rocking against him when he slipped his hand into her knickers and pressed against her clit with his thumb. Her pent up frustration led her to speedy arousal, an urge for him to continue. He teased her up and down a few times as his lips led a delicate assault on her neck. She let out a small moan, leaning against him for more support and angling herself so he could get a better position. Again, she felt his laughter before she heard it but she was too close to total bliss to acknowledge it. When he removed his hand, she let out a small groan of disappointment, her completion snatched away whilst he unzipped his own pants.

Ron muttered a quick Contraceptive Charm with his wand pressed against her belly before thrusting himself in with a moan. She may have been more than ready before, but she was caught off guard by the force. He soon developed a steady rhythm that pleased him, punctuating each movement with a grunt. By the time Hermione was used to the intrusion and his pace, Ron's breathing was rapid, knuckles white against her hips. He was satisfied just as she began to enjoy it, pulling away and zipping himself up, leaving her with her jeans and knickers around her knees in the kitchen.

It wasn't as though she was a selfish lover. Since they had begun the physical component of their relationship, Hermione had been certain to see to it that they were matched, orgasm for orgasm. She thought it only fair that they both put in equal efforts in all aspects of their relationship, from the banal tasks of cleaning the dishes, to bill paying, to their activities in the bedroom. And it wasn't as though Ron had been particularly selfish until recently, always offering to pleasure her in their early days. Now, pants around her ankles and knickers stretched about her knees, all she felt was humiliation beginning a slow trickle down her spine.

"That was..." Ron trailed off, though she could hear the contentment in his voice. "I'm going to take a quick shower and clean up a bit. Do you want to order dinner?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, fighting to keep the frustration out of her voice. She pulled up her pants with a wince at the discomfort. She was certain she would find bruises on her hips in the morning. "I'll order."

To her utter mortification, there were tears in her eyes and she struggled to keep her voice level as she ordered their dinner over the telephone she had insisted they installed. Ron's off-key singing could be heard clearly from the bathroom as he scrubbed her from his skin when she edged through the bedroom, pulling out a fresh change of clothes that she could put on when the bathroom was free and she could soak.

Ron was whistling when he left the bathroom, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to change into and barely glancing at her as she ducked into the vacated, steamy room. She filled the tub up with water that was almost too hot and stripped off, submerging her whole body. Head underwater, she let the distorted noise swim around her mind. She let the thoughts of Ron and her unresolved satisfaction float out of her mind, emerging from the tub pink and clean a half hour later.

Dressed in a pair of snug pyjamas, she joined Ron in the kitchen where he was unpacking the recently delivered food. He helped himself to an outrageous amount of it, piling up his plate precariously and leaving Hermione to dish her own meal out. They settled at the dining table, Hermione pulling a book towards her, Ron picking up a copy of _The Evening Prophet_ and skipping to the Quidditch results page.

Following their silent meal, Hermione cleared the plates whilst Ron, exhausted from work, went straight to bed. Not expecting much from her boyfriend, she took her time cleaning the dishes the Muggle way. By the time she made it to the bedroom, his snores were already ricocheting off the walls.

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Hermione woke up to Ron already in the shower. She stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes, listening to his singing ring through their bedroom, and got out of bed. Her feet recoiled at the cold floorboards and she shuffled into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. As the kettle boiled, she returned to the bedroom, just as Ron emerged from the bathroom, still dripping, towel around his hips.

"Hey, babe," he said, kissing her on the cheek as she pulled out a dress and tights from the wardrobe. "Want me to make you a cup of tea?"

Hermione nodded, untangling herself from his grasp. She showered quickly, returning to the kitchen just as Ron took the teabags out of their mugs and added a splash of milk into her cup. "I might be late tonight," Ron said, picking an apple up and biting into it. "Training at work."

"Okay," she said. She took a long sip at her tea. "I think I might go visit my parents for dinner, then."

"You don't want me to come with you?"

"No, no. It's fine. I haven't had alone time with them in a while."

"Okay, love." Finishing his apple, he kissed her cheek again. "I've got to go. Have a good day."

"Bye," she said, but he had already vanished.

Sighing, Hermione finished the last of her tea. She returned to the bathroom, pulled her hair up into a ponytail, and stared at her reflection. After a few moments, she reached for her rarely used cosmetics bag, applied a quick lashing of mascara and a soft pink lipstick, and nodded at the result. It was only a slight difference, her lashes barely perceptibly longer and her lips slightly plumped, but Hermione liked the change. She hesitated, considering wiping the stuff off, suppressing the precise reason _why _she was wearing it before shaking her head resolutely and turning away from the mirror before she did something stupid like pull out the makeup wipes.

She checked the contents of her handbag were correct, washed her teacup, and spun on the spot in an elegant pirouette. She was running slightly later than usual but made no move to hurry her opening of the store, taking her time unpacking her handbag, setting up behind the counter, and ensuring her shop was presentable before spinning the sign from CLOSED to OPEN.

It took five minutes for her first customer to arrive, the waft of an overpriced, customised cologne signalling Draco's arrival before Hermione had time to look up from her book. But there were two sets of footfalls, both distinctly masculine.

"Granger," said a voice, a slight Italian lilt to it. Their old schoolyard companion, Blaise Zabini, had accompanied Draco. Handsome and haughty as ever, Blaise was taller than she had remembered, looking down his nose at her.

"Mr Zabini," Hermione said. She didn't look at Draco who was hovering behind Blaise, thumbing through a collection of short stories. "How can I help you?"

"My wife is in search of a thoroughly _Muggle_ book and Drake informs me that you may have it in stock."

"That may be the case. Do you recall the title?"

As it happened, Daphne Zabini, nee Greengrass, sought a collection of short stories by F. Scott Fitzgerald that happened to lie right beside Draco. Blaise remained at the counter whilst Hermione sorted through the stacks of books to uncover it. Still not looking up at Draco, she could feel his presence nearby but didn't realise how close he was until he spoke.

"Blaise, I'll wait outside," he called over to his friend who barely turned to nod his head. "Later, Granger," he added in a low whisper in Hermione's ear that sent a shiver down her spine. She still didn't turn her head to face him as he left the store, bell above the door signalling his departure, but she heard him chuckle.

She finished Blaise's transaction, eyes darting past her customer and to Draco's back pressed against the front window of her store. Part of her was strangely sorry that she was to be missing out on her usual exchange with Draco for the day, and she continued to follow him with her eyes as he and Blaise departed, moving further along Diagon Alley.

Frowning, Hermione tided up the store for the next couple of hours, few customers milling in and out. She paused for lunch at one, closing up shop for a couple of minutes to go and purchase a sandwich from Muggle London and returning to eat it behind the counter. She served a few more people than usual, but it was close to four o'clock when her day became more interesting.

The bell above the front door rung and she looked up from her tome to Draco's presence in her shop for the second time that day.

"You just can't stay away, can you, Malfoy?" she commented, closing her book as he approached the counter, leaning on it and thumbing through some of the literature she had set up there.

"You're far too charming for me, Granger. And that mouldy book smell is far too alluring."

"Anything I can help you with?" she offered. "Some sexual health books, perhaps? I have _Delta of Venus _in stock if you need some pointers."

"I'm definitely rubbing off on you," he said. "But I'm more than certain I don't need any help in that department. Always willing to prove it to you, too, if you want."

She leaned across the counter, slowly, stopping only when they were barely an inch apart. "Draco," she said softly, pausing to bite her lip, flutter her eyelashes, "I'd rather shag Voldemort than go anywhere near you."

Draco's usual smirk appeared. Hermione had to admit that whilst during their school days, his smirk was a smug expression of a spoiled only child with a serious superiority complex, but now, in combination with the rest of his demeanour, there was something _slightly_ sexy about it. "_Hermione_," he whispered, "I assure you that I can change your mind."

"Can you?" She shifted almost imperceptibly closer for a second and looked at him through her thick lashes before retreating, laughing.

"Got pretty close there," Draco said, leaning on his elbows on the counter. He plucked a pen she kept behind the counter, fiddling with it for a moment before returning it to the surface, face devilishly close to hers. "You look good today, Granger. See you later."

He was out of the store before she could respond, leaving her flustered for a solid five minutes before she regained control of herself.

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Hermione was grateful when the time came for her to close up the shop. She took her time, counting the money in the till, storing it in the safe she had in the back room, and double checking everything was locked up tight before preparing herself to leave. She added another coat of lipstick and fixed her hair and checked the wards one last time before apparating to a safe point a few blocks away from her parents' house.

The neighbourhood was familiar, the same she had grown up in. Now the trees had grown and the families had changed, but her childhood home had always remained the same. There were updates to the paint job and the roof had been retiled and her mother had quelled her black thumb long enough to grow flowers under the front windows, but it was still home no matter how long she had been away. Her key still fit in the lock and the floorboards in the entryway still squeaked upon her arrival.

"Mum?" she called out, locking the door behind her and shucking her bag onto the coat rack beside the door. "Dad?"

"We're in the kitchen," her mother replied. Hermione passed by the familiar family photos on the wall and found her father sitting at the dining table with the newspaper and her mother retrieving glasses from the cupboard, a bottle of white wine on the counter. "Hello, sweetie."

Hermione kissed her father on the cheek and let him get back to his paper, gratefully accepting a glass from her mother. Jean Granger had the same rambunctious curls as her daughter and an always-present wide smile. For as long as Hermione could remember, she had worn the same perfume and had laughter lines and crows feet but was the embodiment of growing old gracefully. She heard the chair squeak and her father stood up to collect his glass of wine.

"How are things?" he asked, leaning against the counter. Robert Granger was the most typical father figure Hermione could imagine, with his receding hairline and slightly paunchy belly. He smiled as much as his wife and there was little he kept secret. "No Ron tonight?"

"He's working late," Hermione said. "They've got training sessions every now and then. But he's well. Loving his work and he's very good at it. All the Weasleys are well."

"And you?" her mother asked. "How's the shop?"

"It's fine," Hermione said. "Making ends meet. I have a few regular customers who help me along." By a few regular customers she meant Draco, thinking of the few hundred galleons he had spent on some leather bound copies of Dickens' novels a few weeks before. The price on such expensive items was up for negotiation and he knew that, but the former Slytherin hadn't even begun to haggle before handing over the gold. "I'm fine."

"You seem a bit stressed," Robert said. He had joined Jean in the kitchen and they were both starting to get ingredients out to finish up the dinner, companions to the chicken potpies Hermione saw in the oven. "Are you sure everything is alright?"

"I'm fine, dad," Hermione said. She was eager to move conversation off herself, though she knew she spotlight wouldn't stay off her for long. "How's the dental practice?"

"Oh, it's good," Jean said. "I'm not sure how much longer we'll stick with it but it's still a good way to spend the day. Is there the chance of a ring in the near future?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and finished the rest of her wine before considering an answer. She had known the attention would be back on her in an instant. "I'm still young, mum," she said. "I don't want to get married yet. I don't know how I'd even react if Ron asked me."

To be entirely truthful with herself, Hermione wasn't even sure she would say yes. Whilst she was in love with her boyfriend of six years, she wasn't certain it was how she wanted to spend the rest of her life. The idea of marriage seemed awfully average, and Hermione had never been one to settle for average. And with the way her sex life was progressing, she was even more unsure of what her answer would be.

"I'm just saying, you two have been together for quite a while now," Jean said. "Set the table, would you? Your father and I aren't getting any younger, sweetie, and we want to see you walk down the aisle. And grandchildren wouldn't be a bad option, either."

"Mum, you're not even fifty," Hermione said, abiding by her mother's directions and laying out place mats on the dining table. "I'm sure you have a few good years left in you. Besides, I'm not ready to get married. Twenty five is too young to be making decisions like that."

Jean laughed. "By twenty five, your father and I were married and you were well on your way."

"That was the seventies, mum," Hermione said. "I'm sure it'll happen one day. Just not right now. Can we please eat and rapidly change the subject?"

"How's Ronald?" her mother asked, dipping her hands into the soapy water to start washing the dishes. Robert had settled himself in front of the television with his feet propped up, having been the one to do the majority of the cooking, and Hermione had offered to help her mother clean up. "Honestly?"

"Fine."

"Really?" Jean said. "Look, darling, you seem a bit tense. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Sometimes in a relationship, you reach a point where you have a bit of trouble in certain ways. Maybe you've been doing the same thing for too long. You just need to mix it up a bit. Try something new and spice it up."

"Mum, stop," Hermione said, wishing she could clap her hands over her ears. "_Please _stop talking."

"It's nothing to worry about," Jean continued. "I'm sure Ronald will find his footing and you'll be back to enjoying yourself in no time."

"_Mum!_" Hermione groaned. "Stop it! Everything is absolutely fine with Ronald. We're happy, we're in love, so what more could there be." She paused for a brief moment before continuing quickly, unwilling to hear more of her mother's crude honesty. "Wait, don't answer that."

They finished washing the dishes with conversation turned to less personal matters. After the last few things had been put away, Jean hugged her daughter. "As long as you're happy, that's what matters," she said.

"I know, mum," Hermione said. She noticed the clock on the wall and sighed. "I should head back to my place. Ron will be home soon."

She hugged both her parents again and made her way out. The chill of late September made her shiver and she wished she had worn a coat on her way back to the safe point. When she landed inside her apartment, the cold stayed with her and she made short work of getting into a steamy shower to warm up. After wrapping herself in one of Ron's jumpers, she lit a fire and set about making a pot of tea, her perfect companions for a good book.

When eleven o'clock came and went with no sign of Ron, Hermione gave up on waiting around for him. She marked her place in her book and tidied up her mess, changing into her pajamas and crawling beneath a heavy blanket. The length of the day settled upon her and she was asleep just moments after her head hit the pillow.

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**A/N: Please REVIEW.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Chapter two! Bring it on! Thank you so much for the feedback thus far and if you have anything to say about this chapter, please REVIEW**

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Hermione stirred as the morning light shone through the curtains. Ron's side of the bed was cold but she could hear his snores from somewhere in the apartment. She shivered against the cold of the day and pulled a robe around herself on the way to find her boyfriend.

He was facedown on the couch and even from a distance, she could smell the firewhiskey on him. It wasn't a frequent thing, but the Aurors would sometimes go for drinks after their training bouts. There had only been a handful of other occasions, but each time Ron had come home piss drunk and passed out on the couch. Luckily for him, training fell on Thursdays and he had Friday off, so he was free to wallow in his hangover by himself.

After a quick shower and changing into something more suitable for her day at work, Hermione found a restorative potion in the bathroom that was sure to cure her beau of his hangover when he woke. Placing it on the coffee table, she proceeded to lift his head long enough to slip a pillow under it and spread a blanket across his body. He barely stirred, and if it weren't for the loud snores he was emitting, she might have thought to call a Healer.

The day carried on in a tedious fashion with a slow day at the shop. Her morning was punctuated by only two sales but after a hectic lunch period, she only served a handful of customers before five o'clock. She was all too happy to flip the sign on the door to CLOSED, but on her way back behind the counter she heard the bell above the door ring.

"I'm sorry, we're closed," Hermione said, looking over her shoulder. She saw a crop of white blonde hair and rolled her eyes. "Even for you, Malfoy."

"Come on, Granger," he said. "Surely you missed me today."

"I did," Hermione said, settling herself with her elbows on the counter. "It was a tragedy that you didn't visit my shop before this. I nearly cried my eyes out on my lunch break. But as I said, I just closed up."

"I come for the books but stay for the company, anyway," Draco said, picking up a book and flicking his eyes across the blurb. Hermione hoped he would hurry to the point. Having skipped lunch because of the crowds, she was eager to get home and dig into some of the leftover takeaway in the refrigerator. "Do you want to go for a drink?"

"What?" Hermione asked and a little laugh slipped out. Whilst she enjoyed her conversations with Draco when he came to visit her, their relationship had never extended beyond that. It had taken a long while for it to even develop to this point, with his first few visits tense and designed around items he needed to collect for others. But then he had come in one day asking for a particular book which required a rune translation, something she was quite talented in, and with a first awkward handshake, they had buried their past and agreed to start with a clean slate. "A drink?"

"Yes, Granger," Draco said. "I believe that's what they call it when you consume a liquid of some sort, often alcoholic."

Hermione narrowed her eyes for a short moment before deciding. "Fine," she said. She was hungry and tired and could do with a drink and some good conversation, sure that her boyfriend could entertain himself for another hour or so. She could have sworn Draco's cheeks tinged slightly. "One drink. But please, let's go somewhere with food."

"Leaky Cauldron?" Draco suggested and Hermione shrugged in agreement, the drinks cheap and the food good. She collected her handbag and ensured all her belongings were safely stowed away inside before following him out of the shop and putting her usual wards up. "Will Weasley mind?"

"Probably," Hermione said, reminded of her boyfriend's continuing contempt for Draco. Even though their departments worked closely together, she knew that Harry was the one who handled cases that would involve the former Slytherin. "But he went out drinking with his work buddies last night so I'm sure he can afford me one drink. Surely Astoria will mind that you're going out for a drink with me, won't she?"

"I don't know what your fascination with Astoria is, Granger," Draco said. "Last I checked, I was still Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor. We're not together in any capacity."

Hermione snorted. "You might want to actually read Witch Weekly, then," she said. "Apparently you two are madly in love with a marriage proposal imminent. Obviously it doesn't _say _that she's the source but there was mention of a particular birthmark on your left hip."

Her companion sighed. "Of course she did," he said. "But I suppose as long as there are other witches still willing, any marriage proposal is a long way off."

"Charming, really," Hermione said as they entered the buzz of the Leaky Cauldron. Ever popular, it was only more crowded because it was Friday night, but Hermione spotted a booth and led them over before it was snatched away. "Really, I'm not surprised that Astoria is falling all over herself to marry you. Your romantic streak is overwhelmingly strong."

Draco grinned, leaning across the table. "You've no idea just how strong my romantic side can be," he said, giving her a wink before resting back against his side of the booth. "What do you want?"

"You're revolting," she said. "I'll have a steak and kidney pie and some wine."

She watched him walk away, pondering his motives behind inviting her out. Whilst she was well aware that his prejudices lay far in the past, that hadn't mean he had made an effort to establish a friendship with scores of Muggle-borns. She _had _seen his face plastered through the magical media with his arm around beautiful Muggle women, but none of them had signalled a long-term commitment. If she was to be honest with herself, she enjoyed his company. He was witty and sharp, his intelligent mind always enjoyable to spar against, but nothing had extended past light banter. It wasn't as though they had ever had a long one-on-one conversation and her nerves fluttered.

Hermione had abandoned her distaste towards him long ago. Her skin was thicker than most people thought and she had let most of his schoolyard jibes roll right off rather than let them hurt her. Her cautious attitude around him was more concerned with what her friends and boyfriend would think. She was quite interested in delving into a friendship with the blonde, or really anyone outside the Weasley cohort, but was certain Ron would have something to say about it.

"Pie is on its way," Draco said, sidling back into the booth with two wine glasses and a tall bottle of wine.

"I said one drink, Malfoy," she said as he uncorked the bottle and poured them both steep glasses. She reached for the bottle and inspected the label, lifting her eyebrows when she looked at the vintage. "This is horribly expensive wine."

"What's the point in drinking wine if it tastes like swill?" he asked. "Drink up."

Hermione frowned but took a sip. She had to admit that it was quite delicious, but restrained herself from taking a larger gulp. He may have not been as bad as he was in school, but Draco was still a Slytherin and she was sure he had something up his sleeve if he was inviting her out. "How's work?" she asked. "Reel in anymore Death Eaters lately?'

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's tedious," he said. "There are just stragglers left now. No one of any importance nor talent to do any real harm, even if they do manage to concoct a plan. It's largely just paperwork and tying up loose ends. I haven't had a day in court in a couple of months."

"That's why I left the Ministry," Hermione said. "I never felt like I was actually accomplishing anything. The independence of my own business has been far more satisfying."

Draco took a long, deep sip from his glass before answering. "Is the book trade serving you well?" he asked. "You don't seem to have a large stream of customers."

"I get by," she said. "It helps when I have generous regulars willing to sustain me." She hadn't intended to have any inflection in her voice, but her tongue played tricks on her when she said 'sustain'. She wanted to blame the wine but after only half a glass, it wasn't a reputable reason. The truth lay in Draco's strong jawline and her unsated sexual appetite, which lingered as a constant reminder in the front of her brain.

She watched the smirk crawl up the side of his face as he stared at her. "I was right about Weasley, wasn't I?" Draco asked, his smile not fading. "Not quite up to scratch."

Hermione knew she was trapped. There was no way out of this without giving away Ron's recent inadequacies. She shifted in her seat, overwhelmingly glad when their meal appeared and she could stuff her face as a means of avoiding conversation. However, when she looked up a few mouthfuls later, he was still staring at her. She swallowed and looked him in the eye. "I'm happy with Ron, Malfoy," she said. "Don't be an arse about this. And don't you dare mention it at work."

"I didn't say anything," he said. "But you can be happy _and _satisfied, you know. It isn't one or the other. In fact, for most people who are with the right person, it's always both."

"And I'm sure you often fail to make your companions happy or keep them satisfied," she said. "My sex life is none of your business."

He looked like he had another remark to add but something made him bite his tongue as he helped himself to a forkful of his dinner instead. "Why books?" he asked after a few minutes of eating in silence had past. Hermione had finished her meal and was absently pushing her fork around her plate. Their plates vanished as he finished eating. "Why a bookshop?"

"You really have to ask?" Hermione said. "I like books. It's quiet. I get to spend all day just reading."

"And talking to charming customers, no doubt," Draco said as he topped up their glasses. The wine really _was _delicious.

"You mean Zabini?" Hermione questioned, eyes wide, aware that they were encroaching upon dangerous territory. "He's quite good looking, too."

Draco's glare almost made her recoil. "Blaise is more of a snake than I am," he said, leaning across the table to push her glass towards her.

She copied his body language, leaning partly across the table, elbows against the surface. "Better a snake than a ferret," she said, accepting her glass and having a long sip. She thought he would recoil, but his response was prompt.

"Better a ferret than a weasel," he said.

The strange intimacy of the moment was shattered by a loud roar from some of the other patrons as they proceeded to get drunker by the second. Hermione became hyper-aware of her body language and quickly moved back from the table, ensuring there was a suitable amount of distance between her and Draco. She loved Ron and she didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea about her relationship with the Slytherin, but there was something about the pulse of his magical aura that kept pulling her closer to him. The fact he was an enjoyable conversationalist only helped to fuel the link. She gulped down half her glass of wine in an attempt to calm herself.

"No one is even looking at us," Draco said, refilling her glass.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked.

"Is it working?"

Truthfully, she was feeling slightly hazy and very comfortable. The wine was delicious, the food good, and the company agreeable. She was certain there was already a pink tinge to her cheeks, and Draco's usual pallor had even reddened slightly.

"Why the Wizengamot?" she asked, seeming to blindside him with her question. "Why law?"

"Because I was a little shit," he said. "I needed to do something to become a decent member of society to make up for all the rubbish I had done for the rest of my life. And for the most part, the work is interesting and the pay is more than substantial."

Hermione had no doubts about his last point, looking at his expertly tailored set of robes and the pricey bottle of wine on the table. She was convinced they had almost drunk the whole bottle, but it still seemed to be mostly full. Following her line of sight, he lifted the bottle and topped them both up once more.

"Why not a job in the Ministry for you?" he asked. "You seem prim and proper enough to survive there."

"The word you're looking for is prudish," she said. "And it was boring. After the prior laws were reinstated, with a few changes, there wasn't much left for me to do. I became more of a show pony than an actual valued employee. And honestly, after spending my entire time as a teenage chasing around a madman, I thought I deserved the opportunity to pursue what I wanted to pursue. Maybe when I'm older I'll want something more stable but this suits me just fine at the moment."

"I admire your balls, Granger."

"Funnily enough, I haven't got any of those." She eyed the bottle as her tongue wrapped around the words clumsily. "I'd have thought we would have drunk much more of this by now. We've barely had half the bottle."

"You can't rush fine wine," he said. "Or else it wouldn't be worth the price tag."

Regardless of what he said, she reached forward and lifted the bottle, reading the label and careful not to spill any of the expensive contents. The bottle was mostly in French, no doubt one of the ritziest items the modest pub sold.

"Read French, do you?" her companion asked.

"A bit, yes," she said. "My parents and I spent quite a bit of time holidaying there when I was younger. My mother has family in the south. I never studied it properly like most Muggle children do in school but I picked it up when we were on holidays. Do you? Speak French, I mean."

"I'm from an aristocratic background, Granger. I speak French, Italian, and some Greek. My parents had me reading Latin as soon as I could read English," he said. "It's all useful at work if there's an international aspect to a case. Not a lot of wizards are as well versed in life outside of wizarding England."

"Have you travelled, then?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I have homes in France, Italy, Greece, and on the coast of Spain."

"So that's a yes."

"Very observant, even for you."

"Shut it, Malfoy."

"Very witty, too."

They both fell silent but she caught him smirking at her as he topped up their glasses. She checked her watch and saw that it was after seven o'clock and was sure Ron would be starting to get concerned, but the wine was making her feel soft and light and she was enjoying herself too much to end the night where it was. Instead, she picked up her glass and enjoyed another long pull of wine. It tasted more like juice than anything, quenching her thirst whilst simultaneously calling her back for another sip.

Draco seemed more than content to sit in silence for a while, also nursing his glass. When he caught her staring at him, his smirk returned and she inexplicably felt herself blush. She kept her eyes on the other patrons of the pub. She and Draco were certainly one of the more inconspicuous parties there. The booths on either side of them were populated by loud gatherings of increasingly drunken witches and wizards, their conversation adding to the buzz of the rest of the establishment. To be heard through the noise, she lent across the table before she spoke.

"Why not Astoria?" she asked. She wasn't sure why the question had come to her but she thought his dismissal of the beautiful Slytherin witch seemed cold.

Draco mirrored her position, leaning across the table until they were quite close. "Why would I choose Astoria?"

"She's pretty."

"Not my type."

"I thought any witch with a pulse was your type."

"Well, Granger, you'd have to include yourself in that group then, wouldn't you?"

Hermione scoffed. "Yes, that's very likely. I'm sure that pairing is just down the road."

His smirk returned. "I'm not sure you sounded as sarcastic as you wanted with that one.

She scowled. But something about the combination of their proximity and the alcohol, coupled with that damned mysterious pull she felt, made her almost squirm in her seat. She thought again about her boyfriend, focusing on his sweet attitude and his quiet way of loving her. She refused to look up at the man across the table from her, knowing for certain his face would be smug and he would greet her with a tawdry joke.

"I should get going," she said instead. "It's getting late."

"No it isn't. It's not even eight o'clock and it's a Friday night. Weasley can wait a bit longer. I'm not done with you just yet."

When she looked up, his stare was hot. There was a flutter of something in her stomach under his grey gaze and she could only hope her returning stare was intense enough to match. "Why did you want to go for a drink with me?"

"You're good company, Granger, whether you believe me or not," Draco said. "And anything is preferable to Friday night at the Manor or being dragged about by some bint my mother sets me up with."

"What did you tell your mother, then?"

"That I found my own date this week," he said.

Hermione glared at him. "This isn't a date, Malfoy. I'm with -,"

"Yes, alright, I'm not that thick, Granger. You're with Weasley."

She rolled her eyes at his tone. "Very happily so."

He leaned forward until they were almost unbearably close. "Remember what I said about you lying?" he asked. "You always roll your eyes just beforehand."

"I'm happy with Ron, Malfoy."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Her frustration led her to take a large gulp of wine rather than respond. Though he was being an arse about the whole situation, Draco was making her doubt herself, something she very rarely did, particularly at the hand of other people.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she said, standing up quickly and grabbing her bag on the way out of the booth. She didn't spare a look over her shoulder at Draco, hurrying to the female lavatory and locking the door behind her. The rush of movement made her head spin and she realised she was far drunker than she had been in a long while. After using the facilities, she stepped towards the wash basin.

After a quick scrub of her hands, she splashed some cold water on her face, and gripped the sides of the basin to steady herself. In the mirror, she was pink cheeked. Her lips were lightly stained from the wine, giving them a gentle purple undertone. She considered applying a sheen of lipstick but quickly abandoned the idea, instead taking a moment to tie her hair up into a bun and splash some more water on her face, the attempt to sober up done in vain.

Her walk back to the booth was surrounded by shouts of other patrons. Draco was still sitting where she had left him, his fingers resting lightly on the base of his wine glass. He looked up at her approach, head tilted slightly to one side.

"I should go," she said, but she found herself sliding back into her side of the booth. Her head was still spinning. "Is that a refilling bottle?" His smirk gave away the answer before he could get a word out. "You arse, Malfoy. You _were_ trying to get me drunk."

"Frankly, Granger, you're much more amusing like this. And can you deny you've enjoyed yourself?"

"I'm too drunk to even get home! I'll splinch myself!"

"Yes, it's a shame about that."

"Arse."

"So you've said. You really should enhance your vocabulary. Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee?"

She glared at him for a few moments before nodding twice. Draco chuckled as he approached the bar but Hermione had to admit that he was right. Friday nights at her flat were often spent with her nose in a book as Ron went about practicing chess or out with his work friends. She wasn't adverse to a quiet night at home but it _was _nice to get out for a while. She just wasn't too enthusiastic about what Ron's response would be upon her arrival home.

Draco returned to the booth. "Coffee is on its way, Granger," he said. "Honestly, though, I'm disappointed."

"Why? Expecting more of a drunken night?"

"I just expected you'd want more time away from Weasley." He held up his hand to stop her protests before she had even begun. "Look, you can't really believe I think you're happy with him."

"Ron's changed a lot since school, Malfoy. He's kinder and gentler and smarter than you give him credit for and I don't know why I'm bothering with defending _my_ relationship to _you_."

Draco scoffed. "Perhaps, but does he still drool over the Quidditch pages in the Daily Prophet? And you know, I once saw him fawning over a piece from his chess set. I thought he was about ready to propose to it."

Hermione couldn't help the laugh that spilled over her lips. She wanted to blame the wine but knew alcohol couldn't be blamed for everything that she was feeling. Beneath the table, Draco's foot bumped against hers. "He is quite enamoured with his chess set," she said. "I'm sure he could beat you in a game any day."

"Unlikely," he said. "I'm quite talented with a chess board."

"Malfoy, have you ever considered that perhaps you're not 'all that'?"

"Granger, you wound me." Their coffee chose that exact moment to arrive on the table. She took a sip and grimaced at the taste, just hoping that it would sober her up enough so she could get home. Whilst she choked the drink down, Draco kept talking. "I have a question for you, actually. Would you _really _shag Voldemort over me?"

Hermione was thankful she hadn't just had a sip of coffee because she was certain she would have spat it across the table. Draco's smirk was slight but still ever-present. "Alright, I'll concede on that point, Malfoy. I would shag you over Voldemort."

His smirk broke into a shit-eating grin. "That's all I needed to hear."

"What, that I'd rather sleep with you than with a decrepit psychopath who is now dead?"

"That you'd shag me."

"I didn't _quite _phrase it like that," she said but despite herself, her mind wandered slightly into the territory of what sleeping with Draco _might _be like. Just a second of thought made her squirm and she was pleased Draco's attentions were focused on her face rather than her body, though she was certain a flush had coloured her cheeks. She tried to shake the thought of a naked, carnal Draco out of her mind, finding it increasingly difficult to do. Now _that_ was definitely the wine, she told herself.

"I believe you said, 'I would shag you,' which is close enough for me," Draco said.

"Close enough for what?"

"Short term satisfaction," he said. "Something to think about when tugging the snake."

Hermione gagged. "You're disgusting, Malfoy, and now I really am going to leave. How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse for some money.

"A gentleman would never make his date pay," he said, taking a sip of his coffee and effectively finishing half of it in one gulp.

"This wasn't a date," she reminded him. "How much?"

"I don't need your money, Granger," he said. "I'm sure I can think of another way for you to repay me."

His tone was lewd enough without any explicit sexual terms within it. She stood up, returning her wallet, too weary and hazy to argue. "Fine," she said. "Thanks for an..._entertaining_ evening. And if you mention my sex life to anyone, I know a few curses that will make sure you'll never have a sex life ever again."

She heard him laugh as she turned towards the specialised Floo fireplace, throwing a handful of powder into the crackling flames and stepping in. She made a face as the magic pulled her towards her apartment and into the softly lit sitting room.

She was unsteady on her feet with her arrival, almost stumbling over the coffee table as she exited the fireplace. Ron poked his head in from the kitchen where he had no doubt set himself up with his chess set for a match against himself. Hermione let out a giggle that sounded very unlike her as she remembered what Draco had said about Ron's proposal.

"Where have you been?" Ron asked, coming to catch her when she almost fell for the second time. He helped her into an armchair, taking her handbag and putting it on the table. "I was worried."

"Had a few drinks with a friend," she said, sighing. The armchair was very comfortable and she was beginning to feel very sleepy. "I need a shower." She wriggled out of her coat and stood with the aid of the arm of her chair. She heard Ron's laughter but was too interested in getting to the warmth of her shower to chastise him, peeling off her dress and stockings as she went.

After a long, hot shower, she bundled her hair up in a towel and wrapped a robe around herself. Upon venturing into the kitchen, thoroughly sobered up by her shower, she found Ron had made a pot of tea and was keeping it hot for her at the dining table. True to her beliefs, his chess set was out, midway through a game.

"Which friend?" he asked whilst she poured herself a cup and sat opposite him at the table. "Knight to E7. Which friend did you have a drink with?"

"Don't be mad," she said, though she knew it was futile. "It was Draco Malfoy."

Ron looked up, eyebrows raised. "Malfoy? _Really_?" There was a shimmer of anger in his voice.

"He's different, Ron. He's grown up, like we all have," she said, using a previously prepared argument she had concocted in the shower. Her basis was Ron's comments against Draco a few weeks prior when Draco had been renamed as Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor and Ron had said all he was good for was prancing around in overpriced robes. "For Godric's sake, he works for the Wizengamot. He's on our side."

"He's a bloody snake," Ron said, his ears taking on a distinct red hue. "Did you honestly think I would be okay with this?"

"Actually, no, Ronald. I knew you wouldn't be okay with it, but I'm allowed to have my own friends outside of your supervision. Malfoy may be a snake but he's a good conversationalist and frankly, I enjoyed myself. In case you've forgotten, I'm more than capable of looking after myself."

Ron glared at her. "Don't be a prat, Hermione," he said. "He's after you for one thing and one thing only."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"To clear his name, of course!"

She huffed, standing up and leaving the rest of her tea. "In case you've forgotten, Malfoy is a highly educated and highly qualified lawyer. He cleared his name almost five years ago and has spent all his time since then working to make our world a better place," she said. "If anything is wrong, it's your narrow-mindedness towards him."

"Look, I just don't trust him, okay? After everything, you can't accept that?"

"Not really, actually. The person you can't trust is the sixteen-year-old version of Malfoy we went to school with, not the person he is today. You haven't even tried to get to know him now. You won't even let him help you with your cases at work!"

"I don't need to get to know him, Hermione, and I don't want to," Ron said. "You can keep your 'friendship' up with him if you want but don't expect me to let you invite him over for dinner anytime soon."

"I wasn't aware I needed you to 'let' me do anything," Hermione snapped.

"That's not what I meant," Ron said, reaching out for her, but she tugged her arm away from him. "Malfoy and I are never going to be friends. We'll never even get along. So I don't understand why you'd even want to be near him."

"Well, Ron, I'm sure there are a fair few things you don't understand," she said, then angry with herself for being so rude. "I'm going to bed.

* * *

When she woke, it was close to three o'clock in the morning. Again, Ron's side of the bed was empty, only this time she had spread out across the entire mattress. It was the first time since the beginning of their relationship that she had done so, her body normally conscious of the space he took up. She sighed, stretching out and settling back beneath the covers, strangely content in the emptiness.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Chapter three, here we go!**

**Thank you so much for all the positive reviews/favourites. This is certainly just a bit of fun and not intended to be a totally serious story, so it's nice to be putting up something like that. Plus, have prewritten pieces definitely helps when you're already lagging behind in the first week of university. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Please REVIEW**

* * *

At half past seven, the shower was running but there was a distinct absence of singing. There was a steaming cup of tea beside the bed, made in her favourite mug, and she assumed it was an apology of sorts. Grateful to be able to ease into the day that way, she climbed out of bed, aware of a dull throb behind her eyes. It wasn't a fully-fledged hangover but she decided to take her time getting to the shop.

As she set about making breakfast, Ron moved around her silently, making himself toast as she prepared a bowl of porridge. It was eight o'clock when she sat down with _The Daily Prophet_ and her breakfast, and Ron didn't bother kissing her goodbye before disappearing with a crack.

Hermione sighed and turned the page.

It was after ten o'clock when she made it into the store, anticipating a tedious day. When the first hour only showed three customers, she knew it would be a bore, and decided to pass the day by rereading earlier editions of _Hogwarts: A History_. The distraction worked in her favour, passing the time with lunch at her desk, and continuing to read until two o'clock.

"I know what I want, Granger," Draco said and Hermione looked up from her book. She had barely registered the tinkle of the bell that signalled his arrival.

"Want for what?" she asked.

"To pay me back for dinner," he said, coming to the counter and resting his forearms against the surface. "You remember, don't you? You drank plenty of a very expensive elf-made wine and then let me selflessly foot the bill."

"You offered," Hermione said, shutting her book. "And if I remember _correctly_, that was the time you charmed a bottle of very expensive elf-made wine to ensure I was as intoxicated as possible because you're a vile git."

"You wound me," he said, mocking hurt with a hand to his heart. "Regardless, you still owe me."

She sighed. "And what is it you think I owe?"

His trademark smirk came into appearance, sliding up one side of his face. Hermione chose that moment to find the cover of her book very fascinating as he leaned across the counter. When she looked up, his face was barely two inches from her own. "A kiss," he said.

She was unsurprised by his proposition, but she still couldn't hide the blush that crept up her cheeks as she laughed, turning away and taking a few precautionary steps away from the counter before she did something stupid like actually kiss him. "Oh, in your dreams, Malfoy," she said.

"We do a lot more athletic things in my dreams than just kiss," he said, grinning. "Think on it. You can't lie to yourself about Weasley forever."

"Don't tempt me to change the wards so you can't come in," she said.

"You'd never do that, Granger. What other devilishly handsome and equally as rich patron would keep your business afloat?"

"You haven't bought a thing in weeks, so I'd hardly say you're keeping the business afloat," she said.

"It's been a week, Granger, and if you're so desperate for me to buy something, I'll take that leather bound book up there," he said, pointing to a collector's edition copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ that was displayed on a shelf behind the counter. "How much?"

"Even you don't carry around the amount that book is worth," Hermione said. It had been part of a gift bundle Professor McGonagall (or Minerva, as the witch had insisted Hermione call her after she had graduated) had given to her upon her leaving Hogwarts. The book had been part of the Hogwarts library but Madame Pince was too concerned with the tome getting damaged to lend it to anyone, all too happy to see it gifted to Hermione. Whilst she had never read the first edition, there was too much sentimental value attached to it for her to sell it to someone like Malfoy.

"I'll write a cheque," he said, smirking.

"It's not for sale."

"Then why is it on display with all the other sale items?" Draco asked. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin purse. "Besides, everything is for sale when you're as rich as me."

"You're such an arse," she said. "But it's not for sale."

"A hundred galleons," he offered.

She was able to hide her shock though it was quite an effort. That was enough to pay rent on her little shop for a month with a little left over for herself. "A hundred and fifty," she said, coming close to the counter. He mirrored her movements, returning his coin purse to his pocket and returning his forearms to the surface. "Or no deal."

"You drive a hard bargain, Granger," he said. She kept herself from looking at his lips when he wet them, but found focusing on his eyes just as distracting. Instead, she kept her eyes on a pale freckle on his cheek, the only such mark on his entire face. "I'll pay a hundred and fifty for the thing. But you'll have to thrown in something extra. It's a lot of money to throw away on a bloody book."

"Let me guess," Hermione said, flickering her eyes up until they looked into his. "A kiss?" She leaned in ever so slightly, until she could feel his breath against her skin. "Not a chance."

"A Malfoy always gets what he wants, Granger," Draco said and with complete purpose, wet his lips slowly. "Don't forget that."

"You wish."

"I'll wire the money to you and be back to collect the book and my other purchases later this afternoon," he said. "Don't work too hard."

Hermione felt herself flush as he winked and pulled away from the counter, leaving the bell above the front door tinkling with his departure. It took a cup of tea and two more customer visits before she felt calm enough to return to the book she had been reading before, and even then, distraction lingered at every page.

It was close to four o'clock when an owl hovered outside the shop, tapping against the glass to grasp her attention. The animal was carrying a pale blue envelope, a colour synonymous with a letter from Gringotts. Hermione smiled as she took the letter from the owl, offering it treats from the small stash she kept behind her desk in case of times just like this as she opened the envelope and pulled out the memo. After unfolding the little piece of paper, she was close to dropping it when she read that Draco had added an extra fifty galleons to the price.

Whilst it was an enormous amount for her, Hermione knew that this was practically petty cash for the Malfoy family. But there, in the formal lettering the bank's official letters issued, was the sum of two hundred galleons. Draco's signature was an elaborate representation of the name, but she saw he had marked a small 'x' after the 'y'. She laughed and shook her head, tucking the paper back inside the envelope and storing it safely behind the counter, and wondered when he would come to collect the book. She tried convincing herself that she wasn't _that _excited for his visit.

When five o'clock came with no return, she figured he might make an appearance just before closing time, like he had the day before. With that came the possibility of another dinner and she refused to let herself delight in that thought. Just as she said goodbye to a witch she thought would be her final customer of the day, Draco excluded, the door was held open a fraction longer and a familiar crop of red hair appeared, striding across her shop floor.

"Hey, babe," Ron said, leaning across the counter and kissing her cheek. They were still on cool terms with one another, she realised, their lack of interaction that morning not letting up. She knew the discussion was going to have to come up soon, and when she saw a flash of blonde outside her shop window, Hermione knew it was going to be that night. Ron opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by the ring of the bell.

When her boyfriend turned to identify the new guest, Hermione saw Ron's shoulders stiffen almost immediately. Draco made no move to immediately acknowledge Ron, instead coming towards to counter with his shoulders set and face arranged into his usual smirk. Hermione made a silent prayer to Merlin that Malfoy would refrain from any of his usual lewd remarks and would also refrain from bringing up any of their past interactions. Whilst she would never call what she had done 'cheating', per say, she wasn't entirely sure that Ron would see it the same way.

"Weasley," Draco said, nodding at Ron when he reached the counter. Ron made no move to reply, but clenched his fists and turned to stare only at Hermione. A weaker person may have quailed under his stare and whilst Hermione Granger may have been many things, weak was not one of them. "Granger, I trust you received my payment?"

"It was very generous, Draco," she said, remaining purely business as she made to collect the book. It being incredibly old, she was careful to apply gloves from behind the counter before stretching up and collecting it, not wanting any of her body's oils to damage the leather binding. "Do you want it wrapped?"

"Please," Draco said. "I threw in a bit extra for your added services."

Hermione was glad she had worn her hair down that day, knowing her ears would be bright red, and pretended the task of carefully wrapping the book in the brown paper was overly challenging. "Yes, well, thank you," she said. "It was very generous of you."

"How's work, Weasley?" Draco asked, and with that Hermione sped up her pace. If prodded, Ron would explode, and if he was given any allowance, Draco would spill all the details, of that she was sure. But despite working faster, the art of wrapping such a delicate book to ensure its protection was a laborious one, far more so than if it had been any other item.

"Fine," Ron said, barely more than a grunt.

"I heard you tracked Goyle down to a small village in Russia," the blond continued but Hermione could feel his hot stare was focused squarely on her.

"What's it to you?" Ron asked. "Looking to get your old buddy off the hook?"

"_Ron_," Hermione admonished before she could catch herself. Her head snapped up to glare at him, realising Draco was totally unfazed by the remark. Instead, Ron was staring at her and she could see his ears turning red beneath his thatch of hair. She was determined to keep her voice level, turning to the blond when she spoke. "Draco, did you want anything else?"

"There was one other thing," he said, his gaze firmly on her lips when he wet his own, "but it can wait until Monday, I suppose."

And she cursed herself for the warmth that spread through her belly and the pink along her cheeks, but Hermione couldn't help but lick her lips in return as she watched Draco's motions. "Monday, then," she said, handing over the parcel with a polite smile.

"Until next time, Weasley," Draco said, not bothering to nod this time. The bell signaled his departure and Hermione followed his footsteps to turn the sign on the door to 'CLOSED', knowing that Ron was bound to be unhappy.

Indeed, as soon as she returned behind the counter and started to close up the register, Ron spoke up.

"What the bloody hell was that?" he asked.

"Me selling a very expensive book to a very loyal customer," Hermione said. "What Draco offered will pay the shop's rent for a month. I'm not about to turn him away because you have problems with him."

"I don't care about the money, Hermione," Ron said. "He was _flirting_ with you. Doesn't that ferret know you're with me?"

"Of course he knows, Ronald, and you know that I would never cheat on you," she said. "I don't see why you have to get so riled up about it. _You're_ the one I love. _You're_ the one I want to come home to at the end of the day, so just because Malfoy throws about a few comments doesn't mean you need to get all up in arms about it."

"You haven't been acting like it lately," Ron said and Hermione flattened her palms against the counter, preparing for an argument. "You go off and have dinner with _him_, get drunk with _him_, then come home and yell at me for it. Then you don't even talk to me whilst you no doubt gallivant about with him whenever he comes into the shop."

"_Ronald_!" she said, adopting the tone she had often taken on when they were at Hogwarts. "Listen to me, okay? I'm allowed to have my own friends. If Draco flirts with me, that is his business. My feelings are only for you. Will you get that through your head? I love _you_."

She wasn't entirely sure if she was trying to convince Ron or herself, but her words had the desired effect as the colour began to fade from her boyfriend's cheeks. She ignored the niggle at the back of her mind, the little voice that reminded her she did her fair share of flirting with the handsome Slytherin, that her feelings mightn't all be for her boyfriend.

"Can we just go home, please?" she asked, collecting the last of her things. "I have a headache."

"Fine," Ron said, and when he reached for her hand it was reflex and convenience. There wasn't warmth in the touch and she sighed, feeling a genuine headache forming behind her eyes when they apparated back to the apartment. "Are we going to talk about this?" he asked when they landed in the living room.

"What's there to talk about?" she asked, dropping her bag in the living room and walking into the kitchen to get a glass of wine. She had the distinct feeling she would need it.

Ron's footsteps followed her and he took a seat at the dining table. "Are you joking?" he asked. "You're the one who wants to talk about abso-bloody-lutely everything. Or at least you _used_ to."

"Ron," she sighed, dropping into the seat across from him. "I don't know what you want me to say. I've already said that I love you and that I have no feelings towards Draco. If you have any issue with what has been said, then that's your problem."

"What you're saying isn't the sodding problem," Ron said. "I don't want to fight. All we've been doing lately is fighting."

Hermione took a sip of her wine. "Look, we're just going through a rough patch," she said. "All couples go through them. We just need some time. I mean, we got together when we were still kids, Ron. We're both still changing and we each need to learn to accept what happens."

"I haven't changed," Ron said. "Not as much as you have."

"I haven't changed that much, Ronald," Hermione said sharply. "I'm merely being civil to well paying customers, regardless of my history with them."

"But going out with Malfoy?" Ron asked and she was surprised at how level his voice was. "Getting drunk with him? You've spent more time with him in the last week than you have with me."

"That's not all my fault, Ron," she said. "You work incredibly long hours and at night, you seem happier playing chess by yourself or going out for drinks with your friends from work. You only come to me when you want to have sex."

"That's not true!" Ron said, but she knew the flush on his cheeks was from embarrassment, not anger. "You only ever want to come home from work and read some more. We haven't even gone out together in months because you never want to."

"Maybe I do want to, Ronald, but you haven't asked me. You just send me an owl to say you've gone out with your workmates instead. So what am I supposed to do when I actually get the chance to go out? Say no because it isn't with you?"

"That's not the point," he said. "The point is that you would rather bugger off with Malfoy than actually talk to me, your _boyfriend_, about what's bothering you so much."

"You'd rather bugger off with anyone from work than actually spend time with me," Hermione snapped. "The only time you change your mind is for a quick shag, and that's just to please yourself." She stood up, frustrated, headachey, and exhausted. Ron seemed at a loss of what to say in response to her outburst. "I'm going to my parents' house for the night. We can talk about this in the morning, okay?"

She was angry and embarrassed at the tears that spilled over when she got to their bedroom, collecting her toothbrush and a change of clothes. But the situation was getting out of hand and she knew she was at least partly responsible for how much her relationship had been deteriorating as of late. With her items packed into a small bag, she was unsurprised to find Ron waiting outside the bedroom door.

"Hermione, wait," he pleaded, grabbing her hand. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, okay?" she said, and the thought of being blind to the situation terrified her. She had never not known. "But like I said, we were both kids when we got together. And we needed each other so badly back then, but we've both changed. We're not like that anymore."

Ron didn't say anything but released her hand, and she kept walking into the living room where she was sucked away by the tug of apparition. She appeared at the safe point near her parents' house, oblivious to the cold as she walked the streets to her old front door. The house was cosy and familiar and she felt tears beginning to form again when she stepped across the threshold.

"Mum?" she said and her voice cracked. "Dad?"

Her mother's face appeared at the end of the hallway, frazzled and anxious. "Hermione, darling," she said, opening up her arms for a hug that Hermione gratefully accepted. "What's wrong?"

"Ron and I had a fight," she said, holding onto her mother tightly as she cried. "Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course, darling," Jean said. "You can stay as long as you like. Have you eaten yet?"

Hermione shook her head as they broke off the hug. "I'm just going to go and put my stuff away. I'll be down in a minute."

Her mother patted her arm sympathetically before returning to the kitchen whilst she took the route to her old bedroom, up the stairs and second door on the left. She removed the clothes from her bag and put them on the armchair in the corner and took her toothbrush with her into the bathroom where she splashed some cold water on her face. When she started to feel a bit better about things and her eyes weren't quite as puffy, she returned downstairs and greeted her father in the kitchen.

"Everything okay?" Robert asked and handed her a glass of red wine.

"Not really," Hermione said. "But nothing a good night's sleep and some home cooking won't help."

"Glad to hear it," her mother said, bringing a huge bowl of spaghetti bolognaise and homemade garlic bread to the table. They all took their seats, dishing out heaping platefuls of the meal. Hermione's stomach rumbled appreciatively, having always adored her mother's cooking and missing it for the full four years she had lived out of home. The talent had never quite been passed down to her.

They ate in silence for a while and Hermione was grateful for the lack of conversation, particularly oriented towards her. She knew her mother would ask her later, having the same thirst for knowledge Hermione possessed, but banal conversation about her parents' dentistry was exactly what she needed at that moment.

After helping herself to a second plate of spaghetti and finishing her wine, she felt much more relaxed. Sensing this, her mother did bring the conversation around from the property market to Hermione.

"Do you want to talk about what happened, darling?" Jean asked. "We might be a bit old and useless but we do have some good advice every now and then."

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I think we've just grown up. We got together at a stressful point in our lives when we needed someone, and now we're not in that place anymore."

"I do love Ronald, you know that," Jean said, "but he seems far too conventional for you."

"I agree," said Robert. "You've always been a bit of a strange one."

Hermione scoffed. "Oh, that's a nice thing to say to your distraught daughter."

"We mean it in a good way, dear," her mother said, reaching across the table and patting her hand. "But you know, you were always a bit of an odd child, even before your magical abilities started to manifest. Then of course you went to a magical boarding school, got into your first relationship with a world renowned Quidditch player, dropped out of school to fight in a war when you were seventeen only to go _back_ to school after you had successfully helped kill one of the most evil men in the world, thus ending the war, quit your job after less than two years despite ample qualification and perfect grades to pursue a rather risky career as an independent bookshop owner."

"Well, when you put it like that," Hermione said.

"And your father and I might talk about wanting to see you married and with kids, but I don't think we've envisioned you living a conventional life since you were twelve, darling," Jean finished. "It's worth thinking about what path of life you see yourself going down and whether or not Ronald fits into it, not if _you_ fit into his path."

She frowned at that but knew what her mother was saying was true. She couldn't see herself settling down anytime soon, and not into the kind of life Ron wanted. She didn't blame him. He had been raised in a conventional albeit large family and that was all he knew. And despite their adventures in their youth, that conventionality had remained. She knew he wanted children before they got too old, knew that he would want her to take time off work to look after them, knew he would probably want her to stay with them until they went to Hogwarts which she just wasn't up for.

"What do I do, then?" she asked her parents.

"Whatever feels right," Robert said. "As long as it makes you happy."

"Yes, remember that, dear," Jean said. "It has to make you happy."

* * *

Hermione rubbed at her face with the washcloth, mulling over what her parents had said. She was preparing for bed, letting the water out of the sink as she finished washing her face so she could brush her teeth and hop into her childhood bed for what she hoped would be a good night's rest.

She rinsed her mouth and filled a glass of water before tucking herself in, sighing heavily. Although her parents' advice had been useful, it hadn't exactly helped to clear her mind. She chewed on her lip as she wondered what to do, thinking that maybe reading would clear her mind. But after five minutes of being unable to focus on one page, she tossed the book aside and groaned. Surely things weren't meant to be so complicated!

She knew things with Ron were off, and it wasn't just the sex. If she admitted it to herself (and she wasn't sure if she was ready to), they hadn't been quite right for almost a year. Their respective jobs kept them occupied in a way which wouldn't allow for a proper relationship to work

There was a quiet knock at the door, one she knew belonged to her mother.

"Come in," she said, adjusting her pillows and lying down.

Jean came in, wasting no time in sitting down on her bed. "You look just like you did when you were a little girl," Jean said, brushing Hermione's hair off her face. "I'm so proud of you, darling."

"Thanks, mum," Hermione mumbled, turning her face into her pillow. "What's up?"

"I didn't want to ask you this in front of your father," she said, "but I needed to know. Is there someone else? Is that why you're doubting things with Ronald?"

Hermione frowned, rolling onto her back and staring at her mum. She wasn't sure if it was understandable or not, but tears began to burn behind her eyes. When she nodded, one rolled out from the corner. "I think so," she said. "Maybe. But I don't want to hurt Ron. I love him and I would never do anything to hurt him, but there's this other person and I _know_ I shouldn't have feelings for him but I can't help it."

"Oh, my darling," Jean said, smoothing a lock of hair off Hermione's forehead. "You need to think about what's right for you and what will keep you happy. That's all I can suggest. And if you think this other person will make you happy, then you love him with everything you have."

Hermione sniffed and nodded once. "Thanks, mum," she said. "But how do I do this to Ron? How do I tell him?"

"You just have to tell it to him straight," Jean said. "That boy has loved you for too long to deserve anything else."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that," Hermione said and her laugh was watery. "But I know. I just need to figure things out. I don't even know what's like to be an adult without a boyfriend."

"Let me tell you," Jean said, leaning down and kissing her daughter's forehead, "it's much more fun."

Her mother left the room and Hermione wiped away the few tears that leaked out of the corner of her eye. She pulled the blanket high until she was completely tucked in, content and almost too warm, pleased when sleep came easier than expected. It was heavy and dreamless and when she woke again, the sun shone through her window. An alarming clarity began to settle in her bones but before she could discern and act on it, she knew she required a shower and some breakfast.

Returning to her pyjamas after a steamy shower, she found her mother flipping pancakes in the kitchen.

"Your father's popped into the clinic for a bit this morning but I thought you and I could spend the day together," Jean suggested, shifting a pancake onto a plate and passing it to Hermione. She also filled a mug with coffee, strong and black without sugar, just the way they both liked it, and passed it to her daughter. "We could do some shopping and perhaps go for lunch at that little pub I love so much."

"The Leaky Cauldron?" Hermione asked after a rejuvenating sip of coffee. She hadn't a clue why her mother liked the dingy establishment so much, but whenever they got the chance, Jean made a point of going for lunch there with her. She had hoped to avoid the wizarding world for the day but knew she had to collect some things from her shop anyway. "Alright. Let me finish this and then I'll get dressed and we can go. You can come in and see the shop if you like."

"No doubt it'll need a good dusting," Jean said, pouring herself a second cup of coffee.

"That's what the magic is for, mum."

Ignoring her mother's pursed lips, Hermione finished the rest of her breakfast quickly. The thought of a day with her mother was just what she needed to lift her mood before what she thought was going to be a difficult week. Upon returning to her bedroom and making her bed with a flick of her wand (though she would never tell her mother that), she found the clothes she had packed to be entirely unsuitable for the autumn weather and frowned. All she had left in the closet in her parents' house were things she never wore often for one reason or another.

The first thing she pulled out, a horrid bright orange sweater that felt akin to sandpaper, was certainly something she would never wear. Though not a fashion icon by any standards, even Hermione knew it was ghastly. She made a mental note to toss it in the charity bin at the shops the next time she was there. The next was a dress, cashmere, grey, with long sleeves and a turtleneck. She couldn't figure why she had left it at her parents' house, smiling when her fingertips brushed against the soft fabric.

After finding a pair of black tights, she put the dress on over the top and was quite pleased with how the outfit had come together. Pulling her coat on and filling her bag with the necessary provisions, Muggle and magical, she met her mother downstairs. Jean told her she was looking for a nice new winter coat and the pair decided Muggle London was the best decision, Hermione enamoured by their thoroughly unmagical approach to the day as her mother called for a cab to pick them up.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm SO sorry that this is late. I've had an absolute nightmare of a week and I just completely lost track of time and forgot to get this up on the weekend. Regardless, I'm less than a day late by my time zone, so it isn't **_**too **_**bad. Plus, it's a little bit longer than usual, if that'll help placate any of you.**

**Anyway, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed/read/favourited this story. It means a lot! Hopefully this one will get you reviewing some more.**

* * *

Late September ended up being warmer than Hermione anticipated, the day already heating up enough for her to shuck her jacket just an hour into her expedition. Within that time period, she and Jean had made it into the city, found their way through three stores, and Hermione had been thoroughly spoiled by her mother with two new pairs of shoes, a pretty dress, and a pair of jeans. She had insisted that Jean needn't buy the items but a thirst for knowledge and wildly curly hair weren't the only things she had inherited from her mother, and Jean's persistence won out.

So Hermione continued through Muggle London, leading her mother towards Diagon Alley as noon approached, the bags weighing her down beneath the high sun. They chatted about anything that didn't relate to Hermione's current romantic dilemma, from dentistry to the surprising weather to what they planned to have for lunch when they passed through the welcome cool of The Leaky Cauldron. They agreed to visit Hermione's shop first, a quick pop in so she could pick up a book she had accidentally left there the day prior in her haste to get home with Ron and close up properly in a way she had neglected.

Jean was always endlessly fascinated by the magical books in stock, flipping through them and marvelling at what could be done with just a wave of Hermione's wand. She thought a large amount was just pure laziness, that it really wasn't that much effort to live the Muggle way, and her mouth turned down at the corners when Hermione used magic to clean the surfaces of the store.

"Really, sweetheart, I'd have brought a dusting cloth if you had asked," Jean said, returning a copy of Celestina Warbeck's biography to the magical music section.

"I know you don't like it, mum, but magic works just fine."

"It isn't that I don't like it, but I think that you need to hold onto where you come from," Jean said. She picked up a book on potions making, squinting at the pages. "What's gillyweed?"

"It's a plant that lets you breathe underwater," Hermione said, smiling at her mother's fascinated face. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't cook with magic."

"That's because you don't cook at all."

She grinned at her mother, casting one last cleaning spell. "Well, if I did then I'd do it the Muggle way. I just need to put down my earnings for yesterday and then we can go. Shouldn't take more than five minutes, I promise."

"Not a problem, dear. I do find all these books so interesting to look at."

Hermione had just started counting out the galleons in her cash register, making a small notation in her ledger, when the bell above the door rang. A drop of ink spilled from the end of her quill, staining the wrong column.

"The shop isn't open, Draco," Hermione said after glancing up at the newcomer. But she kept her head down on the sums she was working on, biting her lip as her quill scribbled across the page.

"My mistake," he said, "but I just saw a customer in here and assumed you had changed your business hours."

When Hermione did look up, she was sorry for her actions. Whilst Draco Malfoy certainly knew how to pull off Wizarding robes quite expertly, it appeared he also knew how to dress down, though his idea of casual was still a far cry from what most men would consider it to be. His button down shirt had the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, tucked into a pair of perfectly pressed trousers, and he looked _good_.

"She's not a customer, she's my mother."

A cunning smile worked its way onto his face and he crossed the shop floor to Jean, who had turned to watch the interaction. "Mrs Granger, it's a pleasure," he said, offering his hand. "I can certainly see where your daughter gets her good looks from. My name is Draco Malfoy. I used to go to school with your daughter."

Jean shook his hand and Hermione watched as her mother assessed him with keen eyes. "Your name sounds familiar," she said. Hermione remembered crying to her mother about the blond in question on more than one occasion in her youth, sending tearstained letters home after he had first called her a Mudblood, and even asking to come home during her fourth year when he had cursed her outside Potions. Something seemed to crack in her chest.

"I'm sure Gra-...Hermione would have brought my name up in conversation when we were children though I'm certain it would have been in an unsavoury manner," Draco said. "Unfortunately I wasn't the most charming boy in my youth."

"As long as you've changed your tune now," Jean said and smiled. "Hermione, darling, I'm going to wait outside whilst you and Draco chat. If you can't find me, I'll be in that lovely little pet store just down the way. Take your time, dear."

Hermione's stomach twisted when removed her mother herself from the store, leaving her alone in the presence of a very well dressed and smirking Draco Malfoy. He wasted no time in crossing the shop and coming to lean against the countertop.

"Hello, Granger," he said. "I came to collect."

"No," Hermione said, slamming her book shut. Her vehemence was apparently a shock to him and he had the decency to step back.

"What?"

"You _don't_ get to do that. Come in here, charm the pants off my mother, then go on flirting like that with your stupid little smirk. After everything you've done, you don't get to act like this and act like everything is fine." Even Hermione was surprised by her vehemence. She wasn't entirely certain where this bout of anger was coming from but the Gryffindor side of her brain was proud.

"Granger, I haven't any idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you do. I'm sure you've never done a thing in your life without careful consideration. It's probably not in a Malfoy's nature to do anything on a whim."

"Feel free to clue me in any time."

"You!" she said, putting the book away and shutting the drawer loudly enough to rattle the handle. "Coming in here with that bloody smirk every day, flirting and acting like a total prat in front of my boyfriend, causing all sorts of disruption between us."

"I wasn't aware purchasing a very expensive book for the sole purpose of benefitting your store counted as flirting."

"Yes, I'm sure that's _exactly _why you were here. There's no chance you have better things to spend your fortune on than overpriced school textbooks."

"Look, Granger, do you want to make this whole thing a bit easier on me and tell me what '_exactly_' I was doing here?"

Hermione felt utterly ridiculous, opening and closing her mouth like an absent-minded goldfish, because really, what _had_ Draco been doing that was so inappropriate? For every lewd comment made, she had reciprocated in kind. He had always backed off when she asked and had never pushed the interaction further than acceptable. All Draco had done was make her question her already shaky relationship (something she had been doing for quite some time), buy her an expensive dinner, and keep her shop from going out of business.

"Well?" he asked."

"Just…just leave me alone, okay?" Hermione said. Something she thought was akin to regret inched its way into her heart. "Ron and I are going to try and figure things out and your constant presence isn't helping things."

She had expected a flicker in his demeanour, something to dampen the grin on his face. But instead, his smirk only grew.

"Okay, Granger. I'll go," he said. "Have fun 'figuring things out' with Weasley."

He turned to leave and the words were out of Hermione's mouth before she had time to catch up.

"Look, Draco," she said and he paused, swivelling back to face her. "Whatever this is needs to stop. And judging by that smarmy look on your face, you have no intentions of letting this go, so why don't you just tell me what you want."

Draco looked her up and down, his hand still resting on the door. When his gaze rested on the expanse of her leg, a slow and heated stare, Hermione was reminded of why she hadn't kept the dress she was wearing. Her fingers itched to tug the hemline down but restrained herself, refusing to succumb.

"Merlin, Granger," he said, flickering his eyes back to her face. "I thought you were smart."

* * *

"He's dreadfully good looking, at least," Jean said, tearing a piece of her bread and dipping it into her soup. "And frankly, dear, I thought him to be quite charming. You could do far worse."

"Really, mum?" she asked. Her own meal had been pushed aside, appetite long gone. "You do remember that I'm still dating Ron, don't you? And that Draco was my primary tormentor at Hogwarts?"

"You told me you had forgiven him months ago."

"Well, I have-,"

"And that you were already unsure of your relationship with Ronald."

"Well, yes. But for all of Draco's damned good looks and that smarmy bloody smirk, I can't forget all the grief he put me through when I was a child. It wasn't just mindless name calling, mum, even if I learned to brush it off as such. It still hurt at the time."

Jean paused, returning her bread to her plate as she mulled over what she was going to say. "I'm sure it wasn't to the same extend but I certainly recall Ronald being the subject of more than one distraught letter from Hogwarts," Jean said. "And I know the old tripe of boys teasing girls because they like them, but there's certainly a level to the cruelty required for that. I believe Ronald passed that limit on more than one occasion, whether he intended to or not."

Hermione thought to first year, the casual insults, fourth year and the Yule Ball, sixth year and his heartbreaking disregard for her feelings. She frowned, thinking on it now, for all the positive interactions, unexpectedly sweet comments, and these negative flashes punctuated the gentle gestures that had made her love him initially. She wondered if all those gestures could continue to make up for the misgivings in their relationship.

"This is exactly why I put off dating seriously for so long," Hermione griped. "It's all so ridiculously complicated and unnecessary."

She could tell Jean was trying not to smile when she spoke, reaching over and patting Hermione's forearm. "I'm sure you'll work it out, dear. I can talk at you all I want but you are the only one who knows what's best for you in this situation."

Hermione pondered her mother's words throughout the rest of their meal, choosing to push them out of her mind when they retreated back to Muggle London to continue shopping. The return prompted several more purchases on both their parts.

It wasn't until mid afternoon when she made up her mind about what she was going to do, farewelling her mother with the promise of a visit soon. They parted ways after Jean ha been successful in hailing a taxi, but given that it was only a fifteen-minute walk away from her apartment, Hermione opted to take the trip by foot. She lugged the shopping bags along and let her thoughts return to the topic that had been concerning her. And whilst it was no N.E.W.T., she would have much rathered an Arithmancy exam than to have to keep her focus on the problem at hand.

She nibbled at her lower lip as she walked, thinking hard when she climbed the three flights of stairs to her apartment. The bags seemed to increase in weight and it was a relief when she was able to push open the door…only to be faced with the smell of something burning.

"Ron?" she called out, abandoning her purchases. Blood rushed down her arms when the bags fell to the floor, a welcome relief. Her boyfriend poked his head around the doorway, red hair a crazed mess on his head.

"You're back," he said, blinking twice before a large grin spread across his face. "I was trying to cook dinner but…oh, hell!" The smell of burning intensified. "Give me a minute."

She laughed, leaving her purchases behind and following to see if she could salvage Ron's attempt at a meal. But upon approach, the smell only worsened, and she saw Ron trying to clear away the smoke with a wave of his hand as he peered down at the blackened remains in a saucepan.

"Er," he said. "We might have to order in."

Hermione pulled out her wand, vanishing away the pan in its entirety, the smoke along with it. "It's still early," she said. "What were you trying to cook, anyway?"

"Lasagne," he said, his cheeks colouring beneath the freckles.

"Good thing I'm in the mood for curry," she said, smiling at him and fetching the menu for their favourite local Indian restaurant. Her abandoned lunch had left her hungry, though the physical need was accompanied by an emotional tangle of knots low in her stomach. She called, ordering their usual options, agreeing to the fifteen-minute wait for delivery, whilst Ron cleaned up the rest of the dishes he had used.

In the wait for the meal, she decided to unpack her purchases, leaving Ron in the kitchen and picking up her bags to take them to their bedroom. Seeing him had put a wand in the works, so to speak, and his loving attempt at cooking up dinner did nothing to make what she had planned to say easier. Hearing him clatter about in the kitchen made her stomach squirm even more and the creak of his footsteps on approach sent her heart racing, and definitely not in the way they used to.

"That's nice," he said from the doorway as she hung up a new dress on a hanger.

"Thanks," she said. "Mum bought it for me."

"How is your mum?"

"Fine," she said, putting the dress in the cupboard and shutting the door. It had been the last of her purchases to be put away and with nothing left to distract her, she began wringing her hands. Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore and was ready to blurt it out, there was a loud knock at the door that made her jump. Ron laughed, opening the top left drawer of their dresser to fish out some of the Muggle money they kept in there. "I'll get some plates," she said instead and he left to pay for their meal.

Hermione set the table, making sure there were no distractions at hand. She wanted to bring up the conversation they were both dreading as soon as dinner was over, before it got too late and she could still go to her parents' house if need be. When she put down the last set of cutlery, Ron came in carrying a bag full of various curries and rice, even pausing in the kitchen to dish out both their plates. He even offered to take both over, leaving Hermione empty handed on her way to the table, a change from their normal routine.

That was where the differences ended, however. Ron gulped down his food, pausing only briefly to say how good it was and to thank her for introducing him to Indian food again, though it had been six years since she had done so. And what a long six years it had been.

It took all of five minutes for him to finish his first serve as she continued to push around the food from her first serving.

"Ron," she began when he had finished his second serve. Her butter chicken lay mostly untouched on the plate, though she had managed to eat some of the rice and sauce. Unsurprisingly, it did nothing to settle her nerves. "We should talk."

He dropped his fork. "I know," he said. "I've been a bit of an arse lately."

"It isn't that, Ron-,"

"No, it is," he interrupted. This certainly wasn't going to plan, her earlier prepared speech going out the window when he continued speaking. "Training has just been so intense but there's only a couple more months left and then I promise things will be back to normal."

"Ron, your work may have had something to do with us growing apart but it certainly isn't the only thing. Whether you want to admit it or not, we've both changed. Our dynamic has changed."

"It'll go back to normal, I promise!"

She paused, biting her lip before she spoke. "Maybe I don't want it to go back to normal."

"Hermione," he said. As she had predicted, his face crumbled. "Please. We can fix this. We'll spend more time together. Start fresh, like we were a new couple."

"When, Ron?" she asked. "When would we have the time for that?"

"Well, you could take on an assistant at the shop!" Ron said. "Just for Saturdays!"

"Ron, you know I can't afford to do that."

"I'll be making more money when I'm an actual Auror. I can help you out."

"It's _my _business and whilst I appreciate the sentiment, I want to do it on my own," she said with a sigh. "And besides, it's not as though you'll have more free time when you're an actual Auror. You'll be at the Ministry most of the time."

"Give me a week, then," he said, grabbing her hands. "Please. One week. I'll turn it around."

She stared at him, into the large blue eyes framed by such lovely light eyelashes. The eyes were glossy, pleading, and the set of his freckled jaw pushed his resilience on the point. She examined the countless speckled marks on his face, such a Weasley trademark, and reached forward to push the hair from his forehead.

"Okay," she agreed, a nod, but all of her resolve had crumbled and she felt like a wreck for agreeing. "A week."

* * *

It wasn't Ron's fault that she had endured a nightmare of a day but that didn't stop her from being frustrated when he turned up at her store at closing time, announcing plans to take her for dinner at a new restaurant in Diagon Alley. She wanted to go home and scrub the day off her skin with a long bath and then curl up on the couch in her fluffiest, comfiest pyjamas, but Ron was persistent, saying he had already made reservations. She took up her bag and folded her arms across her chest, following him through the street, trying to pretend she was interested in his stories about work.

"We have another round of practice cases next week and then we're getting back into the practical side of things before our final exams in November, but working mainly in the office means I'll be around a lot from next week," he said as they approached _Badgers & Boomslang_, a sleek addition to the restaurant scene in the otherwise somewhat dowdy alley. Despite it only being six o'clock, the restaurant was packed, and Hermione was proud of Ron for having had the forethought to make a booking. He had even been considerate enough to order, choosing the banquet option which allowed them to try all of the chef's specials. It was something she would have always liked to pick but never would have chosen herself, not wanting to pinch the knuts it would take to afford.

Looking at Ron, she realised he really _was_ trying. He had showered and combed his hair, letting it fall neatly with a straight part. The clothes he had picked were definitely smart and freshly pressed and as he looked back at her, she was certain he was paying her as much attention as possible, though her day wasn't particularly fascinating to hear about. It had consisted of a series of disgruntled customers, one three year old who decided the children's book section was the ideal place to throw up, and a particularly fussy woman who wanted to return over ten books to Hermione's store, all of them failed birthday presents.

"I'm sorry you had such a tough day," Ron said, reaching out and grabbing her hand. His fingers were rough, callouses on his palms, and the feeling wasn't altogether pleasant though she didn't move her hand away. "Hopefully dinner will make up for it."

"Fingers crossed."

They were used to spending their dinners in silence, each reading their own chosen material, often going for the whole meal without speaking. But in public it had to be a different story though it seemed they had very little to actually talk about.

"I was thinking we could go to my parents' house tomorrow night," Ron suggested after they had sat in an awkward, difficult silence for over a minute. Apparently, the ease and comfort they had fallen into within their relationship was long gone.

"Maybe," she said. "I'll see how tired I am."

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Sure. But I told mum I'd be there at least."

"Okay."

They were saved as the waitress brought them their first course, pausing to ogle for a moment before Ron offered her an autograph and signed his napkin. She flushed almost as brightly as Ron's hair and skittered off back to work, leaving Hermione rolling her eyes. She took a mouthful of the meal, a small cube of pork belly that had been expertly cooked and had yet to swallow it when the waitress returned, this time toting a bottle of wine. Hermione's stomach flipped when she recognised the label.

"We didn't order any wine," Ron said but he was already eyeing the bottle.

"It was paid for by another diner," the waitress said, wasting no time in opening it and pouring out two generous glasses before leaving the bottle. Hermione pushed hers away delicately, instead looking around for the provider. Ron didn't seem bothered, licking his lips after his first sip.

"This is good wine," he said.

"I know."

"You haven't even tried it."

"I've had it before." And then she caught sight of him, sitting by the window with a pretty brunette, high cheekbones and plump, pouty lips. As always, he was painfully well dressed, in a clean cut navy blue suit which looked to be more of the Muggle persuasion. His companion was equally as well dressed, no doubt a pureblood if her glittering dress robes were as expensive as they looked. Sensing her gaze, Draco looked over. She couldn't be sure because of the distance but she could have sworn he winked at her. It seemed she was going to need that wine after all.

"How do you like the food?" Ron asked, pulling her back to their date. He had already finished his first course and was going in for seconds at the breadbasket.

"It's delicious," she said and made quick work of the rest of her meal before reaching for her glass. "So is the wine."

"Where did you have it before?" he asked.

"Uh, a Ministry function, I think," she lied, hoping to quell the blush in her cheeks with another sip.

"Oh, speaking of those, there's the usual Halloween Gala coming up."

Hermione stifled a groan. She was never a fan of the Ministry functions, sick of the endless photos and giving the press another chance to delve into their private lives. That damned Rita Skeeter was still desperate for a scandal on her, trying to find any possible way to trip her up at the annoyingly frequent galas and balls. "Oh, yes, I suppose it is."

"D'you want to go?" he asked, looking hopefully at her from across the table. He reached out and took her hands. Her stomach churned. She felt eyes on her from across the restaurant.

"We said we'd see how this week goes, Ron. That ball is a long way off."

He tried not to deflate but just nodded. After a few moments he even smiled brightly at her, just in time for their second course to come. While she was there, the waitress filled up their glasses, and Hermione was just as thrilled with the flavour of the wine as she had been the first time. The second dish was just as delicious and she hated to think how much the meal would cost if the food was that good.

It was after the second course that Ron excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving Hermione anxious and alone with the bottle of wine and a clear line of sight over at Draco. He said something to his date and she turned, looking straight at Hermione, who realised the woman was Pansy Nott, nee Parkinson. For some reason she was relieved but the feeling quickly made way for nervousness when Draco stood, crossing the restaurant far too quickly for her liking. She reached for her glass.

"Granger," he said, dropping easily into Ron's empty chair. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Are you stalking me or something?" she asked. "I told you to leave me alone."

"I'm not stalking you," he said. "It's just a happy coincidence that you happened to wander in here on the same night I did."

She scoffed. "Right, because Monday night is obviously the ideal night to go out."

"How are you liking your wine?" he asked. "I thought it would complement the _cheaper_ banquet quite nicely."

"Let me guess, it's another bottomless bottle?"

"Really, Granger? You think I'd waste that sort of money on Weasley? Give him all that fun that we had together?" He leant across the table, grinning, looking at her through blond eyelashes. She both loved and hated how betrayed she felt by her body when she was around him, mirroring his movements, leaning in slightly closer to him after she had cast a cursory glance around to see if Ron was on his way back. "How is 'figuring things out' going for you?"

Hermione felt the colour rise to her cheeks and she rolled her eyes. "It's great, actually."

"Really?" he asked, wide-eyed and beaming like a fool when he leant back in his seat. "Because I haven't seen you crack a smile all night."

"You _are _stalking me," she said. "Look, Malfoy, I meant it when I asked for you to leave me alone."

"No you didn't, he said and he rose from his seat. "But I won't hang around when Weasley gets here. Enjoy your dinner, Granger."

She was left feeling thoroughly confused by the interaction, dwelling on it all through her meal. It left her quite uncommunicative with Ron, not that they had much to talk about anyway, but her silence frustrated him enough that he decided to go for a pint at the Leaky Cauldron after they finished eating.

"I'll see you at home," she said and he sighed.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked. "You've been acting weird all night."

"I'm fine," she lied. It was becoming a nasty habit, she realised, but the truth would only make things worse. "I'm just tired. It's been a long day. I'll wait up."

That offer seemed to please him and he smiled, kissing her on the cheek. "Alright. See you later." He carried on back down towards the Leaky Cauldron and she decided to pay another visit to her shop for the day, collecting one of the new books to read at home while she waited for Ron to return. She enjoyed the walk back up the alley by herself, enjoying the quiet, crisp night, and feeling slightly rejuvenated from the meal and the wine.

Thinking about the drink coloured her cheeks once more and she nibbled on her lower lip as she unlocked the door to her shop, waving her wand to illuminate the store. Leaving her coat and purse on the counter, she delved into the back room in search of some new stock to explore. It took her five minutes before she emerged, coming out to a not-so empty room.

"Granger," Draco said, not looking up from the book he was flipping through.

She groaned. "What do you want, Draco?" she asked. "What part of 'leave me alone' don't you understand?"

"Oh, I understand it perfectly," he said, returning the tome and turning to her. She cursed the rush of warmth she felt as he stood there, looking at her from head to toe. "But I'm more concerned about what you _want _rather than what you _say _you want."

Hermione's heart rate quickened as he walked across the room, coming to a stop so the counter was between them. "Draco," she warned when he leaned across the surface, assuming his usual position. In Hermione's mind, it was dangerously provocative, giving her all sorts of ideas she shouldn't be having when she was technically still with Ron.

"_Hermione_," he said.

It was remarkable just how much impact one word could have. She had often considered how powerful a name was in a magical context, how myths and legends about naming things could render them powerless. What she had never considered was how a name could render _her _powerless, send a quiver through her knees, and make her want to lean across the counter and kiss that word from his lips. It was with a great deal of restraint that she remained standing tall, back straight.

"I'm…I'm still dating Ron," she said.

"You don't want to be."

"So?" she asked.

He reached out, long limbs meaning he was able to catch her arm with his hand. "What's the point in making yourself miserable?" he asked. The sensitivity in his touch, in his words, took her aback, and she hesitated, unsure of how to answer. When there was no response, he continued, his hand still on her forearm. The skin burned. "Do something for yourself for once."

She wanted to kiss him. Godric's soul, how she wanted to kiss him! From the angle of his recline, he was looking at her through those damned eyelashes again, his usual smirk replaced by a look of the utmost sincerity. But somehow she still had enough sense in her to shake the thought of snogging out of her head, just in time to catch a glimpse of Ron at the window, staring in at her and Draco.

The blond's hand was still on her arm, though she realised it was closer to holding her hand than providing a comfort on her forearm. Ron's face was crumbling through the glass and she pulled herself out of Draco's grasp and ran onto the street where he stood.

"I get it," Ron said. She wasn't sure who would cry first, him or her. "Well, no, that's a lie. I don't get it. Not in the fucking slightest."

"Ron, nothing happened," she said. Her throat burned and she realised she was going to be the one who cried first. "I promise you. Nothing happened."

"I know," he said. "I know you wouldn't do that to me." There was a heavy pause. Hermione shivered, her coat lying on the counter in the shop. She spied it through the window, Draco looking surprisingly abashed as he flipped through a pamphlet. "I suppose our week got cut short then."

"I'm so sorry, Ron," she said.

His lips formed a thin line. "I don't know if you are," he said. "But I know I'm sorry. Just give me an hour to get some things and I'll get out of the apartment."

She nodded, shaking when he stepped forward and kissed her cheek. Hermione closed her eyes against the tears, wincing when she heard him apparate away. Then, there was a warm arm around her shoulders, guiding her back into her shop, and she realised Draco had come out to fetch her from the cold.

"Leave me alone," she said, her voice choked. "Please. Just for tonight."

* * *

**A/N: Please REVIEW.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: And I'm actually on time for once in my life. That's a first. **

**Anyway, I forgot to tell you guys that this chapter and the next will be a bit longer than the others, just to end it all on a positive note for you guys. Thank you so much for all the reviews and kind words. I'm very, very appreciative. Please, please, **_**please **_**keep letting me know what you thinkg.**

**WARNING: This chapter gets a bit steamy.**

* * *

She came home to a case with R.B.W emblazoned on one end standing by the front door. There wasn't much to say so neither of them spoke, but Ron held her tightly against him and kissed her hair when she started to cry.

"You're still my best friend, Ron," she said. "You know that. And I'll always love you."

"I know," he said and released her. "The feeling's mutual and always will be. Just promise me one thing, will you?"

"Of course," she said, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

"Don't make it easy for the ferret," Ron grimaced, and then he picked up his suitcase, leaving her alone in the hallway of what was now just her apartment.

She wanted to cry. Not for losing Ron, but for her fourteen-year-old self and the devastation she had felt when Ron hadn't asked her to the Yule Ball. And again for her fifteen year old self, stuck in the Department of Mysteries, thinking that might be the day they died and the one thing she would never know would be if he felt the same way. For being sixteen and loving a boy so oblivious to her heart. And for seventeen, and loving someone so wholly she could have sworn her heart ripped in two when he walked out of that tent, only to walk back into her arms in the Chamber of Secrets.

But first, she poured herself a glass of red wine and ran a hot bath. After stripping off and piling her hair into a bun, she lit some candles and sunk into the water, letting herself begin to mourn the girl she used to be. Despite the War, loving back then was simple and it was a joy. There were no snakes waiting around corners, just the purity that came with young love.

Once submerged in the water, she let the tears run freely once more, until she could no longer distinguish between the warm water and the salt. With that finished, she slowly scrubbed herself clean, taking the routine as a ritual, until she was pink and soft. Now that the tears were dried up and the soap and washcloth had done their work, she climbed out of the tub and dressed immediately in her softest flannel pajamas.

* * *

Time passed slowly.

Days trickled into weeks, punctuated by a girls night out with Ginny and Luna, an evening at The Hog's Head with Harry, and no awkward encounters with Ron. Gradually, more and more of his possessions had disappeared from the apartment. Harry said he was choosing times when he knew she would be at work to come by, offering the space they so badly needed.

She reacquainted herself with being alone, without the sounds of Ron's chess games in the background. She grew used to an empty bed with an alarming speed, found new clothes to take up space in the wardrobe, and replaced Ron's shelves in the bathroom with sweet smelling lotions. His belongings moved into boxes, stacked high in the living room, a corner she never really looked at properly anymore. It was all just negative space.

As she had expected, news of their relationship's breakdown had spread quickly through the press. Rita Skeeter had enjoyed writing about Hermione's shortcomings as a girlfriend, never one to miss the opportunity to belittle her. But rather than the backlash, Hermione was flooded with letters from friends to say her they were on her side and not the journalist's, that she shouldn't worry herself. And whilst they had picked sides in the battle with the media, everyone was willing to keep the peace between her and Ron. No one wanted to favour one party over the other, and though parting with Ron had been a difficult process, keeping their mutual friends was an enormous relief.

She realised now, as she dressed in a tight pair of black jeans and snug sweater, that she was happy, unapologetically so. It was a feeling of relief, of freedom, and it was strange. Though she hadn't necessarily felt tied down with Ron, there certainly hadn't been anything like this. Now she was free to do what she wanted, whenever she wanted, without the concern of someone else needing her around.

Hermione cast one last look at herself in the mirror before finding her wand in her handbag and using it to apparate herself to Diagon Alley, ready to start the day. It was bright and sunny outside but the air was crisp with late October, her body shivering as she worked to unlock the door to the store. Once inside, she unloaded a pile of parchments and books from her bag, flicked her wand to open the blinds and turn the lights on, and settled behind her desk.

If she was being honest, the breakup had been very good for her business. Having her name through the newspapers had reignited people's interest in her, bringing more visitors to the shop than she had seen in quite a while. There had been a fair number of gawkers, but it had also reminded people that her shop existed to pull them away from the mainstream texts in Flourish & Blotts. Her store was apparently still a hot commodity, with customers appearing in the first five minutes.

She worked steadily through lunch, the visitors not ceasing until the lunch rush ended at two. Her stomach grumbled loudly at the missed meal. It happened to be at that precise moment when she realised she had forgotten her lunch at home. The sandwich she had prepared earlier would no doubt still be waiting for her when she returned to the apartment and it was with a punctuated sigh that she rested her head on the countertop, just as the bell above the door rang.

She was unsurprised by the newest visitor, recognising his footfalls and expensive cologne rather than explicitly looking up and seeing him enter. Draco wasted no time in coming over to the counter.

"That doesn't look to be a particularly comfortable pillow," he remarked.

"It isn't," she said and looked up. He was in one of his usually crisp suits, the dark grey bringing out the colour of his eyes, and she recognised it as one of the outfits she had complimented him on two weeks earlier.

He had been very respectful after the breakup, giving her three days of space before a tentative visit on the fourth day after she had broken up with Ron. There, he had remained a safe distance from her, waiting until she confirmed that she was okay with his presence before approaching. Since then his visits had been a daily occurrence and something she looked forward to. Because whilst nothing definite had happened, they still kept up their flirty nature, only this time her intentions were more sincere.

"What's wrong, Granger?" Draco asked.

"I left my lunch at home," she said. "And I don't have time to head out and get anything."

"It's a good thing I haven't eaten, either," he said. "What do you want?"

"Draco, I don't have time to go out," she reminded him.

"That's not what I was suggesting," he said. "I'll bring the food to you. What do you want?"

She knew this was dangerous territory. Any alone time with Draco had proven to be a dangerous move on her behalf and they hadn't been alone since her breakup. Since the day was winding down for most shoppers, she knew there was a chance she would be alone with him for quite a while, and without Ron waiting for her at home, Hermione was certain anything could happen. But she was hungry, for company and for food, and the offer was too tempting.

"Just a sandwich," she said, biting down on her lower lip. "Turkey and cranberry, if they have it."

"As you wish," he said, exiting the shop and giving her heartbeat the chance to return to a normal rhythm.

It was a poor effort but she looked in the mirror in the back room to make sure her hair was falling right, to press a bit of lipstick on, to make sure her cheeks were nicely rouged. Then, in an attempt to make herself look entirely disinterested, she ruffled her hair, rubbed the lipstick in until it was almost non-existent, and returned to the front of the store to look over the parchments and books she had brought in.

The translation of Beedle the Bard's tales had been something she had wanted to work on for a long while, but it was a time consuming task and one she hadn't wanted to undertake when she was with Ron for fear it would eat into their already small time together. But now she was tackling the project full force, using her time between customers at the shop to focus on the delicate translation, and she was enjoying the work immensely. She was working on Babbity's story when Draco returned, carrying a paper bag apparently laden with food.

"Move that stuff over," he instructed, pulling sandwiches out, accompanied by salad, two bottles of juice, and some chips. She recognised the logo on the bag as belonging to a Muggle café just outside of the Alley and smiled to herself, shuffling her papers together and putting them in the top drawer as he continued to distribute the food. "What is that, anyway?"

"A translation," she said as she unwrapped the sandwich he handed her. He had acknowledged her request, the bread heavy with turkey, Brie, and cranberry sauce. Her stomach was grateful when she finished the first mouthful and she licked her lips. "This is really good. Thanks."

"I'll add it to your tab," he said. "You never paid me back for that dinner, by the way. Or that extra fifty galleons I paid for that bloody book."

"It was never the right time," she said, putting down her food and opening one of the juices. She took a long sip, trying to wet her suddenly dry mouth.

"Is it the right time yet?" he asked, glancing up from his sandwich to look at her. Her heartbeat began to race. She looked around the shop quickly, checking to see if anyone was lurking in the Alley. She didn't know if she was looking to see if the coast was clear or looking for some sort of way out, but when she returned her gaze to him, her mind was made up.

"I think so," she said and her lower lip quivered.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Granger."

It was so gentle that at first all she could feel was his breath on her face, then just the merest shadow of it as Draco pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. She wanted to turn her head, to press their mouths together, but his hand held her face steady until he was ready. And then, moving his lips down millimetre by millimetre, she again felt the warmth of his steady breaths, wondering if he was truly as unaffected by this as he seemed, until their mouths were together, lips on lips, his hands on either side of her face, holding her steady, holding her safe.

It wasn't an explosion. It wasn't stars behind her eyes, birds chirping, bells tolling, fireworks ricocheting around her mind. Instead, it was warm. It was comfort, their mouths moving in a synchronisation she had never thought would be possible with a first kiss. There was no battle here, no staking a claim, just lips that felt like home.

"Can you close up early?" Draco asked. They had broken apart only to breathe, a regrettable necessity.

"Draco-," she said but stopped herself, looking at him. His eyes were dark, wide, sincere as he stared at her. "Give me five minutes."

If she were to think back on it later, she didn't know what she was doing. But she shoved her papers into her handbag, shut the blinds and turned the lights off, locking the door from the inside, taking his hand as her lips burned.

This was all too fast. She knew it. She hoped he knew it. She wasn't the type of girl to go home with a man the first time she kissed him. Or at least she didn't think she was, but she and Ron had consummated their relationship only two days after admitting feelings for each other. But she followed him anyway, side-along apparating with him to his house where they landed in what she assumed was the front room. Draco undid the clasp of his cloak, letting it fall to the ground around him. She put her handbag down. They stared at each other for a long moment, her heart beating a rapid and painful rhythm on the inside of her chest, waiting until he stepped towards her.

The softness she had seen before had gone, replaced by something she could only label as hunger, and that, too, evaporated when he moved even closer again, and they both knew what was coming. Hell, the whole world would have known what was going to happen had it only stopped to look at them.

This kiss was made of fire. Untamed, hot, wild, they gripped at each other as if that was all that mattered, skin on skin. Her hands pulled at the hair that hung around the nape of his neck, his fingers knotted through her curls. She was sure the sparks their bodies sent out could set the world on fire.

This was not love. This wasn't even _like_. This was passion and lust and frenzy and exactly what she needed as he pulled the hem of her sweater up. Their lips parted long enough for it to find its way over her head before he tossed it somewhere unknown and her fingers pulled at the buttons of his shirt long enough so her fingers could splay across the planes of his chest.

It was hunger, plain and simple, that led her to push the shirt from his shoulders, his lips to leave hers to trail a path down her neck, sucking and biting as he went. She moaned, pulling at his hair again, and his fingers made quick work of the button on her jeans. He stopped kissing long enough to roll her jeans and knickers down her legs and she stepped out of them whilst he unbuckled his trousers, removing his boxers at the same time.

And then he was kissing her again and her legs were wrapped around his waist. They backed up until she was pressed against a wall, her ass resting atop a sideboard. It took no time for him to push himself inside of her and their moans mingled. Draco's was a guttural groan and hers for a long sought satisfaction, continuing with each thrust, fast and hard. With expert precision, his fingers found her clit and she bit into his shoulder when sparks began to impede on her vision.

"Fuck," he said, speeding up his thrusts and his ministrations on her nub until the sparks overtook her vision and she came, shuddering around him, falling into the blinding light. But Draco was not finished, and he continued to push into her, spiralling her body into another heart stopping orgasm. And with that, Draco came. "_Hermione_," he groaned and in the barely functioning region of her mind, she was aware of him filling her up, his forehead resting against her shoulder whilst his breathing slowed.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime she felt sated. Her limbs were soft, body radiating with something, and he kissed her forehead gently. It was softer than any of their prior interaction, tenderness she found both shocking and appealing. When she looked up at him he was staring at her with an intensity she had never seen in him, fading to a smile when he caught her gaze.

She inhaled sharply as he pulled out, sensitive all over. "Wow," she said, and listened to him chuckle. He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and kissing her. The fire was no longer raging, but had been replaced by a slow and steady burn. "I hate to break it to you, but I'm going to need a bit of a break before we go at it again."

Again, that laugh. "Even I'm not that good, Granger," he said. "Give me a minute to catch my breath."

Hermione was still surprised when he had enough strength to lift her, her legs wrapped around his waist once more, and carry her to the bedroom. The bed he placed her on was softer than any cloud and combined with the afterglow of her orgasms, she felt more comfortable than she had in months. Draco lay down beside her and they climbed under the sheet, both still too warm to need a heavier blanket.

With his arm around her, Hermione rested her head on Draco's chest, listening as his heartbeat slowed. His skin was still burning, both of them covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She nuzzled against him, kissing his chest.

"Draco," she said and he hummed in response, prompting her to continue. "Was this…oh, I don't know the term. I suppose one night stand would be appropriate."

"What?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair. "Granger, do you really think I'd have been courting you for so long if that were the case?"

"Courting me?"

"Dinner. Wine. Spending disproportionally large amounts of money in your shop," he said. "It may be a less than normal approach to courtship but I figure they're along the same lines."

"Well, we're certainly less than normal."

He laughed, a quiet rumble in his chest. "Look, Granger, you're an exception to my usual rules with women. You're an exception to all of them. It's been like this for a very long time," he said, lips against her hair. "Since you testified for me."

Hermione tried not to think back that far. It brought up too many memories she had hoped to forget but never could and rekindled thoughts that still woke her up in the middle of the night, mouth open in a frozen scream.

"You wore a black dress with long sleeves and your hair was pulled up off your face," he continued. "You were so skinny back then. You were too skinny. And you got up there and saved me from a life in prison. You looked at me as if you saw the possibility of my redemption. After everything I had done to you, you saved me."

Hermione remembered the dress. The long sleeves had covered up the knife marks his aunt had carved into her skin, slices that no magic could remove. She had worn black for a long time after the war had finished.

"I wanted to prove to you that I could do it," he said. "I wanted you to know that you were right when you looked at me."

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up and resting one hand on the taut skin of Draco's chest. It began to draw a pattern only she could see, fingertips barely touching him.

"You did prove it to me," she said. "You're so much more than what you were. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

"I never apologised for what my family did to you," he said.

"I wouldn't think it to be in a Malfoy's nature to apologise," she said with a smile. "Not that it matters anymore. I forgave you a long time ago."

"Why?" Draco asked. He lifted a hand and pushed a curl off her face. Despite what they had just done, the intimacy of this particular gesture made her blush. "Up until a few months ago, I had been a complete twat."

"I could have let myself grow bitter with resentment," Hermione said. "I could have gone mad with hatred if I kept it all built up inside of me. But why would I want to do that? When there are so many better feelings in this world. Like this, for example."

And she bent her head down and kissed him softly, feeling him smile when she repositioned herself so she was straddling him. Any attempt at modesty was lost when the sheet that had been covering her slipped down, her breasts open to the cool air. When she straightened up, the look on Draco's face was enough to break her into a wide smile, enough to convince her to lean down and kiss him again and again, their hips grinding together.

In a quick movement, Draco flipped them. Holding himself up on one arm, he began to explore her body with his spare hand. His fingertips traced down her neck to the soft spot at the base of her throat, his touch enough to make her quiver. She could imagine sparks lighting his path down her body as his hand shifted to her breasts, circling one nipple with incredible slowness before her pinched at her nipple.

Were she in any other situation or frame of mind, she would have blushed at the sounds he was managing to work out of her as he copied his actions onto her other breast. But now her skin was heating for other reasons, his lips following the trail his fingers had taken as he worked his way down her body with peppered kisses on her breasts.

Hermione sighed, arching her body to meet his lips when he took a nipple into his mouth and repeated the actions on her other breast. A small part of her mind wondered if she had ever been this stimulated before as she practically keened with desire, but any rational train of thought evaporated when Draco found his way between her legs.

She could only describe it as worshipping. Each move was slow and deliberate, coaxing her to an exquisite edge before moving back slightly, letting his lips hover barely an inch away from her skin. Then, after what she thought must be an eternity, he teased her over the brink, until she fell into a crashing, blinding light. Draco's name turned to God on her lips when she exploded, reaching for nothing until the tremors began to subside.

When she opened her eyes, Draco didn't have a look on his face as though he'd caught the canary. Instead, there was a softness she was unused to. She felt him positioned at her entrance and when he raised his eyebrows to ask for permission, her nod was immediate.

This was not their frantic fucking of before. This was their bodies in unison, both slick with sweat, breathy words a prayer to one another. Draco used one arm to support his weight, his other hand gripping hers tightly. Hermione could feel the pressure building. Draco stooped his head to kiss her and she arched into him. His thrusts quickened,

"Oh, gods," he said, and with a thrust, she felt him finish. She came seconds after, shattering around him, her body so impossibly sensitive as she saw stars colliding behind her eyes. Her hands gripped to Draco, pulling him as close as she could, until finally she was left sated and sweating. Draco kissed her, soft and languid, and eased himself out. She tried not to wince, feeling tenderer than she had in a very long time, but her attempts failed.

"Okay?" he asked,

"Much better than hating you," she said, working her way to rest her head over his heart. Draco's arms were tight around her. He laughed and she felt the rumble in his chest whilst he pulled the blanket up around them as she let sleep take over.

* * *

For the first time in what felt like a decade, Draco woke up without any residual weariness, his bed warm and the company more than he could believe. Hermione's tangles of hair were spread across the pillow next to his, lying on her stomach with her face turned to his and one arm stretched across his chest. Sometime in the night, the sheet had slipped down and the smooth expanse of skin on her back was revealed. He counted four freckles, which formed an almost perfect diamond in the center of her back, marks he hadn't noticed the night before.

As he shifted on the bed, she began to stir. She offered a long sigh and stretched before opening her eyes, squinting against the brightness of the room. Draco had forgotten to shut the curtains the night before and the sun that spilled in was warm against his skin. It took a few blinks before Hermione opened her eyes fully, a soft smile on her face. Her lips looked sweet enough for him to lean in and kiss.

"Morning," he said instead. She stretched again, rolling over and pulling up the sheet to cover herself. "Sleep well?"

She nodded. "I'm sore all over, though," she said. Apparently, it was too early in the morning for her to realise the implication of her words, because she looked confused when he smirked. "What?"

"Just wait until you try and walk," he said, paying for it when she swatted at him. He caught her hand and kissed her palm, shifting over with all intentions of keeping her in his bed all day. "What are you doing today?"

"Ron's coming back to the flat to pick up the last of his things," she said and Draco's desire deflated with the mere mention of Ron's name. "What time is it?"

"Half past nine," he said, looking over his shoulder. Seeing as he usually woke before seven, sleeping in this late was quite a surprise for him and he gathered that the same could be said for Hermione when she sat up in a flash. The sheet slipped down and he was treated to a glimpse of her breasts before she turned away, searching for what he assumed was her shirt. "What?"

"He's coming in half an hour," she said, hopping out of his bed in search for her clothes. They were strewn about the room and he delighted in watching her search half-naked. There was something about the way she walked that reassured him he had done a good job of pleasing her the night before. She winced when she pulled her jeans on. "I'm going to need a shower before I see him and I'm _starving_."

"You could let the Weasel wait and we could go out for breakfast somewhere," he suggested, unflinching under the glare she gave him. "Or we could both shower here. Two sets of hands are always better than one."

"Sod off, Malfoy," she said, pulling her sweater over her head. "Do you know where my wand went?"

"Nightstand," he said and pointed to it. "Want to go for lunch after you've entertained Weasley for a little while?"

"Maybe," she said and came to his side of the bed to kiss him. He wouldn't let her leave with just one kiss, though, pulling her back and making sure she was thoroughly snogged. By the time they separated, her cheeks were red and eyes glassy and Draco thought for a moment that she might agree with his plan to leave Ron waiting and hop back into bed with him. "Er, thanks."

"No problem, Granger," he said. "I'll come around later and pick you up for lunch."

"I don't think I agreed to that," she said and he winked at her whilst she disappeared with a _CRACK_.

Draco grinned despite her absence. He tossed away his sheets and stood up to stretch before walking to his ensuite. Despite the absence of a morning romp in the sheets, he was still in a glowing mood as the bathroom fogged up and he stepped under the shower's spray. He was almost sorry for scrubbing the smell of Hermione off his skin but whatever perfume she wore was too mingled with sweat and sleep for his liking. When he was shampooed, lathered, and rinsed, he emerged smelling of his usual peppermint scented toiletries. After dressing in a dark grey button down and some black slacks, the closest he ever got to casual, he decided to fix himself some breakfast. Draco poured a little extra water into the French press in the hopes that Hermione would return sporadically, but when eleven o'clock had come and gone with a cover-to-cover reading of The Daily Prophet, he took it upon himself to drink her share of the coffee.

He looked over some reports for work, spending his Saturday in his usual fashion, only pausing his regular activities to owl his parents to inform them he wouldn't be attending their usual dinner engagement, but he would pop in on Sunday for tea. But whilst his eyes skimmed across case files, his mind was elsewhere, namely on the apex of Hermione Granger's thighs. A few times he found himself smirking at the pages of dry notes, thinking of her beneath him the night before, writhing. When he thought of her nails scratching at his back and the sounds she had made, he had to step away from his notes, shaking the sweet memories out of his head for a moment so he could actually get some work done.

By half past one, however, he began to get restless. Although they hadn't made any definitive plans to meet for lunch, Hermione had seemed rather pleased with how the evening had gone and her mood that morning had been positively chipper. Despite being aware he had said he would pick her up for lunch, he thought that her engagement with Weasley wouldn't have taken long and she would have returned for what he hoped would some more brilliant shagging. Instead, he remained surrounded by notes and empty coffee cups without a warm witch in sight.

Draco stopped to pull on a coat and tuck his wand into its breast pocket before apparating to Diagon Alley. He had never become privy to her home address but, knowing her shop was supposed to be open, assumed she might have popped in there for a while. The shopping district was as busy as ever for a Saturday and he scowled as he pushed through the swarms of witches and wizards. Most seemed content to walk at what seemed to be a glacial pace, apparently unaware that some people wanted to reach their destination before sundown. After pushing his way past a gaggle of witches who pointed at him as he passed, some giggling and sighing and one even winking in his direction, he made it to Hermione's shop. Sure enough, she was standing behind the counter with someone in front of the counter. Even from behind, Draco knew it was Harry from the scruffy, unkempt hair and the set of the man's shoulders. He had spent too much time with the Auror for his liking, even going so far as to almost call his former schoolyard rival a friend.

The bell above the door chimed with his arrival. Hermione looked at him and he saw her eyes were rimmed with red, the brown glassy with tears. Harry turned to face him and frowned, his eyebrows scrunching up as he nodded towards Draco. He returned the gesture, continuing up to the counter and leaning against it lightly. He tried not to spare too many glances towards Hermione who was astutely avoiding looking at him, fiddling with some parchment beside the register.

"Draco," Harry said, "how are you?"

"Fine, Potter," he replied. His eyes flickered towards the brunette behind the counter. She still refused to look at him. "And yourself?"

"Can't complain," Harry said. "What are you doing here?"

"I have some business with Granger," Draco said, catching himself before her first name rolled off his tongue. "If that's alright with you."

"Well, we were actually going to lunch," Harry frowned again.

"Later, then," Draco said, this time blatantly staring at Hermione. She looked at him for only the second time, offering a quick nod.

"Later," she agreed, her voice shaky. Draco wanted very badly to hit something.

"I'll see you at work, Draco," Harry said, nodding at him once more. He put an arm around Hermione and the pair exited, Hermione glancing back at Draco over his shoulder.

Once they had disappeared down the alley in the direction of The Leaky Cauldron, Draco took it upon himself to turn the sign on the door to CLOSED before _crack_ing back to his house. He threw his jacket off, taking great pleasure in balling up the expensive garment and tossing it against the wall. The soft thump was less than satisfying but it was a good start. After such a promising beginning, the day truly was turning to shit, and he considered for a few moments sending an owl to Pansy to ask her to find him a date for the night, someone he could shag into the mattress whilst imagining Hermione's pale skin beneath him. He had the quill in hand before his mind came to the rescue. He decided to give her two hours to turn up at his door. After that, he would go and get her, by force if necessary.

After scrunching up the parchment and throwing it into the flames, he fixed himself a sandwich for lunch and made more coffee, setting himself up in his study. It took a great deal of strength and skill he had learned during his days with Voldemort to force thoughts of Hermione into another compartment of his brain, keeping her out of his mind and leaving him distraction free, able to actually focus on the case files he had so haphazardly been attempting to read through earlier. When his sandwich was finished and the dregs of his coffee were left, there was a knock at the front door.

Draco stood, removing the lock on the room he had locked his thoughts up in. When he opened the front door, Hermione stood there, pale and wrapped up tightly against the cold that blew threw. Her eyes were no longer red and the tears seemed to have dried up, but she didn't offer a smile before pushing past him into his front room. When she shucked her coat he noticed she had changed her outfit into what he assumed were comfort clothes.

"That jumper is ridiculous, Granger," he said, noting the fox wearing a sombrero on her blue sweater.

"My mum got it for me a few years ago," she said. "I've never worn it before. It's really quite hideous, even I can see that."

"And you're not exactly known for your style."

"He still loves me," she blurted out, looking him in the eye and the urge to hit something rose in Draco's chest once more. It was primal, a powerless reflex. "And I still love him." He thought of his sixth year, of crying to a ghost in a girl's bathroom because there was nothing he could do.

"You're going back to him." It wasn't a question. He thought for a few moments his legs might give out but then she shook her head, fast enough for her brown curls to bounce.

"No," she said and took a seat on a sofa. Her fingers played with the hem of her grotesque jumper. "I couldn't do that to myself. But I do still love him. I thought you needed to know."

"Is that why you were crying?"

"No," she said again. "Ron and I had a fight. He saw these." Draco realised why that sweater had been her top choice when she rolled the turtleneck down and saw her skin stained with two love bites. He hadn't noticed he was acting like such a horny teenager the night before. "He connected the dots."

"You had broken up," Draco said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the room.

"It still hurt." She let the collar return to its usual place and continued picking at a loose thread. "I'm sure you understand that I'm not the most confident when it comes to this sort of thing. Other than you, I've been with two men in my life. One is Ron, and the other is Viktor, and that was only because I was drunk and upset one night when Ron and I were on a break and he just happened to be in town. Ron still doesn't know."

"Other than detailing your less than impressive sexual history to me, Granger, what's your point?"

"I don't know much about romance and relationships, but I know that I shouldn't be with you if I'm still in love with someone else."

Draco could have sworn the fracturing in his chest was audible. But he knew his face was impassive, that cool mask, that smirk he reverted to from his childhood days. He felt himself nod, link his fingers together in his lap. It took a few moments to figure out just what he wanted to say and what he actually _could _say without appearing like a twat or returning to his brutish, childish ways.

"And I don't want to be with you if you're in love with someone else, Granger," he came up with. "I don't need you to be thinking about Weasley when we shag."

He wanted to tell her that he didn't care. He wanted to say that he wanted her however she was going to come to him, hideous sweater or not, feelings for Weasley or not. He needed her, needed to say that the night before had been one of the best nights of his life, that he had waited years for that moment. But he kept his silently fracturing heart a secret and swallowed the words he had wanted so desperately to spill out, because Malfoys didn't beg.

"Okay," she said and he thought she might cry again. Instead, she stood, wrapping her arms around herself. "I should go."

"Okay," he repeated. "Fine. Do you need me to see you out?"

"I think I can remember the way," she said and there was a small smile on her lips. "Thanks. And I'm sorry."

It was only five minutes after she left that he stood and realised her coat was still on his sofa. She was certain to be long gone by now so it wasn't as though he could chase after her to give it back, and it didn't really fancy seeking her out anyway. He collected it, trying hard not to breathe her in, and placed it on a hanger to keep in his coat cupboard near the front door. Once it was locked away he inhaled deeply but she was everywhere, her scent on everything, in his mind to drive him mad.

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**A/N: I was never going to let them off that easily. Let me know what you think in a REVIEW.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Okay, yes, I am fully aware that this is two weeks late. But sometimes real life takes over and upon opening this chapter, I realised it needed a serious edit and whilst working two jobs and attending university full time, I didn't have the time I would like to sit down and do a revision, and my studies and jobs take top priority. I'm sorry about the wait, but I don't think it was unreasonable. But, to make up for the lateness of this chapter, it's definitely a lot smuttier than I had planned. So enjoy that.**

**Anyway, six (eight, now) weeks goes by a lot faster than I thought it would. I can't believe that this is finished.**

**I'd like to thank everyone for your support throughout this story. Whilst it's been written for a while, hearing how much you all like it is such a boost and definitely makes me want to write much more for you to read. So yes, if you've reviewed, favourited, or even just took the time out of your day to read this story, then I thank you from the bottom of my heart.**

**Considering that this is the last chapter, I'd love to see some reviews, so let me know what you think!**

* * *

She hadn't expected to feel this way, but as soon as she was in a safe zone, Hermione apparated home, surprised she didn't splinch herself. Tears were flowing freely now, far more than had fallen after her row with Ron. Upon landing in the front hallway of her apartment, she tugged her jumper over her head, feeling suffocated, letting it fall in a heap on the wooden floors as she continued to the lounge. The fire was already lit but she wrapped a blanket around her anyway, willing the warmth to stop her from shaking.

When her tears had dried up, leaving her face feeling raw and puffy, she had hoped to feel lighter, relieved of the tension. But instead her body felt exhausted and it took a great deal of effort for her to haul herself up off the couch and into the shower, feeling the hot water unknot her tired bones. Afterwards, when she climbed into bed carefully, still tender from the night before, her sheets felt scratchy, smelled only of her strawberry scented shampoo, left her thinking about Draco's bed from the night before.

The night was restless, spent turning in her sheets, waking a few times to find the blankets had been tossed onto the floor. By morning, she was feeling even more drained than she had felt the night before but more sleep didn't seem like an option though it was still before seven o'clock. She refrained from taking another shower, instead dressing in comfort clothes, grateful that it was a Sunday and she didn't have to open the shop.

She didn't know why she was so upset. Her relationship with Ron had been declining for quite some time and she had known that it was going to have to end. That part she had embraced a long while ago, the sadness low and heavy in her stomach for a few months. But with the end of the relationship had come release, freedom from that unhappiness, and though part of her mourned for the death of that love, she hadn't thought it was going to affect her quite this badly. Considering she still barely knew Draco, apart from the awareness that he was a fantastic shag, Hermione tried to push the sorrow at the end of that coupling far from her mind. But no matter how hard she tried, she remained with the memories of their one night together.

"_It's been like this for a very long time."_

"_I never apologized for what my family did to you."_

"_I wanted you to know that you were right when you looked at me."_

Hermione wondered if maybe she should have just stayed in Draco's bed the morning after, showered with him, gone for breakfast with him, and wound back between his sheets once more. That would have been a far more pleasurable outcome than this, sitting in her apartment by herself. The gaps where Ron's things had once been were gaping holes in the apartment. A stack of Quidditch related books removed from the shelf, his mugs taken from the kitchen cupboard, half the wardrobe empty apart from a t-shirt of his that had fallen down the back. She had thought about if she should return it, knowing it wasn't the sort of thing she would likely crawl into and wear, but after her row with Ron the day before, Hermione knew he wouldn't want to see her for a while.

He had been waiting in the apartment when she got home, half an hour early, looking as though he still lived there. The moment she arrived, disheveled, bed hair, and unwashed, it was obvious that she had spent the night elsewhere, but it wasn't until he saw the marks Draco had left on the side of her neck that he had gotten truly upset. He knew it wasn't cheating, but found her haste in moving on offensive and indicative of the possibility of other dalliances when they _were_ together. She had told him she had never cheated (not a total lie, though she wasn't entirely sure) and whilst Ron had believed her, he had still been furious. Hermione hadn't even bothered trying to lie about who it was, sure he would be able to smell the falsities if she tried.

"_I don't need you to be thinking about Weasley when we shag."_

But was she _really _still in love with Ronald? She wasn't sure that she was. Yes, he was still her best friend, despite the fight, and yes, she would always love him. But it wasn't romantic love. When she had been with Draco, every atom of her existence had been with him. Her body had become attuned to his touch from the moment he pressed his skin to hers, the outside world lost, anything other than Draco's body a distraction which melted away under his heated kiss. Yes, she might still love Ron, but she certainly wasn't _in_ love with him. Their chances at reconciliation were dashed before they even came into existence, but she still couldn't bring herself to be with Draco again.

She hadn't told Harry of her dalliance with Draco. The hickeys had been covered with a scarf by then, her hair worn down for good measure, and it had felt awful to lie to him about why she and Ron had been fighting. It felt awful to lie about the situation at all, but she knew she couldn't come out and tell her best friend she had slept with Draco Malfoy only three weeks after ending her long term relationship with their other best mate. Instead, she had mumbled some bollocks about who got to keep the apartment, though Harry's keen eyes hadn't missed a trick. He knew she was lying and she knew it was only a matter of time before he found out what about. Besides, it was more than likely Ron would spill the news seeing as he was sleeping in one of the spare rooms at Grimmauld Place, sharing the home with Harry and Ginny.

Hermione realised the tea she had made had gone cold in the pot, a solid half hour passing by as she stared absently at the place on the shelf where Ron's books had stood. Deciding she didn't really want it anyway, she took the pot back to the kitchen and poured the tea down the drain and not bothering to wash up with any immediacy. What she wanted was to leave the apartment but she was too exhausted and too sad to bother, wondering how she could pass the day without distracting thoughts of Draco entering her mind.

There was a roar of the fireplace from the living room and Hermione poked her head through the doorway, not expecting any visitors. Ginny stood in her front room, dusting soot off her sweater, her long red mane tied up into a ponytail.

"Hi," Hermione said, entering the front room. "What are you doing here?"

"Training was cancelled," Ginny said, gesturing outside where a fierce storm had picked up. Hermione hadn't even noticed. "And I figured I'd spend my day of with my best friend, if that's alright."

"As long as you're not here on a reconnaissance mission," Hermione said. "Do you want some tea?"

"Love some," Ginny said, sitting down on the sofa and crossing her legs beneath her. Hermione returned to the kitchen and found a bigger pot for them to share, returning a few moments later to find Ginny still on the couch, flicking through the newspaper on the coffee table. "There's nothing in here about you guys, you know. I'd have thought Skeeter would still be digging into you."

"Well, we were never that much of a public couple," Hermione said. "It's not as though we made a point of flaunting our relationship. We just sort went about doing our own thing. Very boring, actually." She poured the tea and handed a cup to Ginny, sitting down in an armchair and tucking herself up into a ball.

"I suppose," the redhead said, closing the newspaper and looking to Hermione. "How are you holding up, though? You guys were together for ages."

"I'm okay, I think."

"Is that why you're hiding away in your apartment? I know you two got into it yesterday. Harry told me all about it and Ron was cagey all night."

Hermione sighed. "I'm not _hiding_. It's my day off. I just wanted to wear comfort clothes and not face the possibility of running into anyone who will ask me about Ron."

"Nice hickeys," Ginny said. "And if I know my brother at all, he's not the one who gave them to you."

Hermione flushed. "No, it wasn't Ronald," she said.

"Do you want to tell me who?"

"Not really."

"Okay," Ginny shrugged. "You deserve it, though. The chance to rebound. Have a little fun. Merlin knows you need to let your hair down a bit and Ron wasn't helping with that. I was going to suggest a few blokes for you, maybe even Viktor again, but it looks like you're doing just fine on your own."

"You know, Gin, I'd have thought you'd be mad at me," she said. "I broke up with your brother and slept with someone else less than a month afterwards. If you did that to Harry then I'd be mad at you."

"You and Ron were different," Ginny said. "I know everyone expected it after Harry and I got together, but you were sort of the leftovers. I mean, you loved each other, but I don't think it was the same sort of love Harry and I have for each other. You were together for six years and not once did Ron even mention the thought of proposing to you. Harry couldn't wait to get a ring on my finger. It took him all of six months before he was down on his knee."

Hermione remembered it with a strange sense of fondness, the first Christmas after the War. It was still a sad time, their first Christmas without so many. George had refused to come down from his room. Molly had burst into tears when someone had said Fred's name. The meal had been eaten in silence and Arthur told her his wife had knitted her usual Christmas sweaters, including one for their dead son. Ron had remained pale and stiff the whole time, not touching Hermione, not looking anywhere. And then, after the plates had been cleared away and Charlie and Bill had offered to take over the task of doing the dishes, the family had moved onto gifts and Harry had gotten down on one knee and offered a ring to Ginny. Molly cried again, George still didn't come down from his room, and the oldest Weasley boys had to all but pry Ginny and Harry off each other.

"Sorry, was that insensitive?"

"No, not at all," Hermione said truthfully. "But really, you're taking this a lot better than I thought you would."

Ginny grinned, a wry smile. "I guess motherhood is making me soft."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up and she let out a squeal that was very unlike her. "Motherhood? You're pregnant?"

"Six weeks," Ginny said, now beaming. "And actually, I'm glad training was cancelled because it turns out morning sickness doesn't just happen in the morning."

Hermione hopped out of her armchair to hug her best friend, laughing right along with the redhead. "I can't believe it. I didn't even know you were trying to get pregnant! When did you find out?"

"Yesterday. You're the first person we've told. Harry wanted to wait until the first trimester is over but I wanted to at least tell you. I thought some good news would cheer you up and it looked like I was right. Just don't go around telling anyone, okay? And we weren't actively trying but it's not like we _weren't_ trying either. We were going to be happy either way."

"I'm so pleased for you," Hermione said. "You're going to make the most amazing parents."

Ginny grinned again, nestling back into her cushions. "Now, I've told you my secret. Can you _please_ tell me yours? I promise I won't breathe a word of it to Harry or Ron. I wanted to tell you about the baby because you're my best friend and I hate keeping secrets from you, and by the looks of it, you need to talk to someone about what's happening."

"I think you were supposed to be in Slytherin with manipulative skills like that," Hermione said, remaining on the couch and crossing her legs beneath her, mirroring Ginny's position. She rested her back against the armrest and sighed.

"Was that a clue?" Ginny asked, ever eager. "Is it a Slytherin? Oh, Merlin's beard, I'll kill you if you say it's Marcus Flint."

"What's wrong with Marcus Flint?"

Ginny pulled a face, scrunching her eyes up and sticking her tongue out in apparent disgust. "He's all flab and bad teeth. Hell, I'd be surprised if you could even kiss him properly with that dental work."

"Gross," Hermione said, tossing a pillow at her companion. "It wasn't Flint. I can't believe you'd even consider that. He's absolutely vile."

"Actually, it was a bit ridiculous of me," Ginny said. "If he tried to give you a hickey he'd probably end up ripping your throat out with those teeth. But it _was_ a Slytherin?" Hermione nodded weakly, knowing the redhead wouldn't give up. "Merlin's saggy ball sac, was it Zabini?"

"Ginny! He's married, not to mention a complete prat. Do you really think I'd fool around with someone else's husband?"

"Oh my god," Ginny said before she could get another word in and Hermione knew she had figured it out. "Forget Zabini, you slept with _Malfoy_." Her smile was wide, Hermione surprised her cheeks didn't crack. "How was he? Was he as good as Witch Weekly said he'd be?"

"You're okay with this?"

"Of course I am! Particularly if he's giving you the good shagging you need. I mean, he's a prat, sure, but he's rich, hot, and donates a lot to charity. Harry sort of think of him like a friend." Ginny took the last sip of her tea and returned the cup to the table. "Besides, Hermione, you deserve it. You've done what everyone has expected of you for _years_. Have a little fun. Shag a Slytherin. Shag Malfoy. You've earned it."

"I think the hormones have muddled your brain," Hermione said. "I just…I mean, Draco was fantastic," she said and her cheeks coloured as she recalled the experience to mind. "And we get on well outside the bedroom, too, but I still love Ron. Draco and I are just bad news waiting to happen, I know, but it felt…right." She was angry and embarrassed at herself when a tear rolled down her cheek, wiping at it hastily to try and hide the emotion from her best girlfriend.

"You really like him, don't you? Malfoy, I mean," Ginny said and Hermione nodded. "I'm probably not going to be the one to change your mind, since you're apparently more stubborn than a Weasley, but do what feels right for you, regardless of whether or not you think it'll be right for everyone else. We spent out childhoods doing right by the rest of the world. Now it's our turn."

* * *

"You're being a bloody Hufflepuff about this whole situation, Draco," Pansy said, balancing her two-year-old daughter on her hip. "If I didn't know you any better I'd say you're lovesick, but of course you have to have a heart to be lovesick and I don't think I've ever seen any evidence of that being true."

"You're great at these pep talks, Pans," Draco said. "Really, your kid has a lot to look forward to when she grows up. You'll no doubt be able to guide her through anything."

They were in Pansy's kitchen, Draco close to leaning his head against the marble countertop, frustrated. There was a neglected tumbler of firewhiskey by his right hand and a plate of what Pansy had called "nibbles" for them to snack on, all of the food soft enough for her toddler to eat without much trouble.

For Draco, Pansy was his source of advice when it came to females. If he had accidentally let a one night stand think he was interested in pursuing something more, she was always right there with tips on how to dump the broad. Well, at least she _used_ to be full of valuable insight. Now it seemed she was only prone to insults and child rearing tips, apparently tossing an idea around in her mind as she shifted her daughter to the other hip.

"You know, you're going to need to tell me who she is before I can offer any real advice to you. Each woman requires a different approach," she said.

He glared up at her although she paid him no mind as her attention was drawn to the fussing toddler. There was another lull in conversation as Pansy took her daughter over to the playpen in the corner.

"You're going to take the piss," he said.

"Likely."

"So why would I tell you?"

She sighed, returning to the counter. "Because you _obviously_ want my help and you know I won't provide that unless all information has been disclosed."

"I didn't realize it was a business transaction."

"Please, Draco," Pansy said. "Even getting my own daughter was a business transaction for me. Ten years of friendship won't exempt you from that."

Draco pushed his fingers through his hair, not even bothering to send a withering look to her. Outside, the ocean's waves crashed against the shoreline, echoing into the airy kitchen. It was all annoyingly soothing. He would have much preferred the riotous noise of London's central, something to drown out his thoughts, as had been his respite since Hermione's visit to his doorstep.

"Well?" she asked.

"It's Granger, alright?"

Pansy stared at him for a few moments, eyebrows raised. "Really?" she asked. "Finally? You actually finally got Granger?"

"Well, for a night at least."

"Salazar's soul," she said, coming over and sitting on the other stool at the breakfast bar. "Granger? Really? You're not taking the piss?"

"No, Pansy, I'm not taking the piss. I slept with Granger, alright?"

"And now you're a lovesick fool."

"I didn't know you knew anything about love."

"Well, I don't. But like I said, you're looking like a Hufflepuff and it's sort of the same thing."

"What do I do about it?"

"About what?"

"_Granger_."

"I thought you'd already slept with her."

"I _have_ already slept with her. And I'd like to keep doing so, but I haven't a clue of how I can go about making that happen."

When Pansy gave him a blank look, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised and her head tilted to one side, he sighed, choosing to give in and repeat the entire conversation he and Hermione had shared after their one night together. Pansy interrupted a few times with questions, easily answered, but the rest of the time she was paying closer attention than she ever had during their schooldays. He was surprised she didn't whip out a piece of parchment and quill.

"Hm," Pansy said when he finished speaking, as though she had come up with a plan.

"Well?"

"_Well_?" she repeated. He rolled his eyes. "Don't be a prat, Draco. It's quite simple, actually."

"Then would you care to enlighten me?"

"You just talk to her, you idiot."

The sound he made was not unlike a growl, coming from deep in his chest. "You think I haven't tried that, Pansy?" he asked. "You think I haven't sent her countless owls? All she did was tell me she needed space and stopped returning my letters. I don't think talking is going to work."

"How long has it been since the last letter?"

He counted back in his mind. It had been almost three weeks since their night together, and he had stopped sending owls four days after that when Hermione had penned an abrupt letter in loopy blue ink, telling him that she needed space and time to think things over. Since then, he had resisted any urge to visit her store, even kept away from the Alley for fear of running into her and being forced into an awkward interaction.

"About two weeks," he said when he realised he had been silent for too long.

"And nothing?"

"Nope."

"No wonder you're moping," she said. "Want me to talk to her?"

"_No_," he stressed. He swallowed thickly when he realised their last interaction was when Pansy suggested offering Potter up to the Dark Lord. It was just two days before she had escaped London and the wrath of those who were after supporters of Voldemort, though the Parkinson family had never openly chosen a side in the war and Pansy's reaction was that of a scared child's. "You two haven't spoken since school. I doubt that'd go along well. Just tell me what _I _should do."

Pansy sighed. "Fine. If you want to be boring then just try sending her another owl. If that doesn't work, pop by her shop next week. The Wizarding world is a small place, Draco. You two can't avoid each other forever."

* * *

It took a few moments for Hermione to place the face that entered the shop as the same woman who had been with Draco at the restaurant. And after that, there was a second or two of delayed realization to fully recognize the new visitor.

"Pansy?" she asked.

"I grew into the nose, Granger."

And she certainly had. Gone were the pug-like features of her youth, the past six years having matured her looks into something smooth and angular, regal. All of these changes were complemented by shiny dark hair in a long plait and a set of elegant cream robes. But it was the toddler on Pansy's hip that threw Hermione, the former Slytherin looking completely at ease with the child.

"I wasn't aware you had a daughter," Hermione said.

"We aren't exactly on gossiping terms, Granger. It's been six years," Pansy said, readjusting the child who seemed to be dozing off. "But, yes, this is my daughter. Felicia."

"She's very sweet."

"I know," Pansy said, but it was with a fondness rather than any sort of boasting. If anything, her tone had been endearing.

Thinking on it, Hermione realised she hadn't seen Pansy since the war ended. Like many young Slytherins, she had disappeared into obscurity, free of charges, but not free of the persecution by the Wizarding population. Only when most had reemerged a few years later, after the initial uproar had died down, Pansy had stayed gone. And now, heaving her reemerge in her shop with a child on her hip was a bit much for Hermione.

"Er, how have you been?" she asked.

"Fine," Pansy said. "Raising my daughter well out of the reach of you and your do-gooder friends."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Then what brings you back to London?" she asked, though the twisting in her gut gave the solution she already knew.

"You're not that idiotic, Granger," Pansy said, confirming her suspicions. "Draco sent me. Or, rather, told me about what happened and then made me swear I wouldn't come talk to you."

"But you did?"

Pansy smiled, sickly sweet. "What are Slythern best friends good for if it isn't this?"

Hermione supposed that Pansy made a good point though she would certainly never openly concede to her. "What did you come here to say?" she prompted instead.

"You know, all the usual things," Pansy said, waving her hand. "That you should give him a second chance and similar nonsense."

"Actually-,"

"And before you tell me that I have it wrong, I'm sure someone as high and mighty and full of feminist ideals as you wouldn't be in such a tizzy about the whole situation if you had slept with a sodding Gryffindor. Hell, even a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff would've been fine."

"I don't care that he was a Slytherin."

"You mightn't, but it sounds like Weasley did. And for whatever warped reason that no doubt led you to stay with him for half a decade, that makes you care."

"I don't want to hurt Ron."

"Too late, apparently. Get over it. And in the mean time, don't keep Draco waiting. He's simpering around like a lost puppy and I'm finding it to be rather pathetic. Give him a proper answer, not more of this rubbish about waiting around. I don't have a lot of people left to care about, but Draco is in the top two, so I suggest you get your act together quickly, Granger."

Hermione was at a loss of what to say but Pansy didn't offer the chance of a rebuttal, turning on her heel, toddler on her hip, and returning to the Alley. The ensuing alone time gave her the chance to dwell on what had been said by Ginny and Pansy.

She wondered if the latter had been right, if she would be beating herself up if her dalliance had been with someone like Terry Boot or Ernie Macmillan (not that she could _ever_ dream of sleeping with Ernie). She was certain that Ron's utter disdain for Draco had led to his overdramatic reaction, and even if her ex-boyfriend had been mad at her for sleeping Ernie or Terry, Hermione knew it wouldn't have been this extreme.

Ginny's truths also ran through her mind, keeping her in a distracted daze for the rest of the day. Every process was gone through automatically, registering sales mechanically and closing up before she realised she had even done so. All throughout, she fought with her beliefs of what she thought she should do and her heart hammering out what she wanted to do.

* * *

It took three days and the morning edition of The Daily Prophet for Hermione make up her mind.

Over her usual cup of tea and marmalade on toast, she saw a picture of Ron with his arm around an unnamed women as they walked through Diagon Alley. A splodge of her toast's topping splatted across the woman's face as Hermione frowned at the image, Ron laughing as he guided his apparent date into the reopened Fortescue's for some ice cream. He hadn't taken her on a date like that in the last two years of their relationship.

With a gentle noise, she shut the newspaper, finished the rest of her tea in a large gulp, and returned to her bedroom, stripping off the grey sweatshirt and baggy jeans she had originally decided on wearing. Upon entering her room, she opened her wardrobe and frowned at the expanse of clothes before, never usually one to even bother focusing on her attire. After a few moments, she knelt down on the floor, reaching in between two pairs of shoes and pulled out a package that had been waiting at her apartment when she got home after seeing Pansy. The gift, a large pale blue box wrapped with a silver bow, had been on her doorstep when she had made it up the stairs, with an envelope lying on top. The note was simple, reading: _For when you see Draco_, and had been signed with an elegant P. She supposed it was a peace offering of some sort, though Hermione thought flowers were the more common gift.

Pulling the outfit out of the box once more, she examined the material. It was all made from luxurious fabrics that she knew would cost more than her salary would allow. She wasn't certain how Pansy knew her size, right down to the black heels, but everything had fit perfectly when Hermione had tried the outfit on initially, though the all black ensemble certainly wasn't her style. Regardless, she pulled the outfit on, wobbling in her shoes before she regained her knowledge of walking in high heels, and stepped in front of the mirror.

Her sometimes-disastrous relationship with Pansy aside, the Slytherin had style. Every piece worked together seamlessly and now the only issue Hermione was left to face was whether or not she should put her hair up or down, and it took a few attempts before she just let her curls run free. She pinched her cheeks for some colour, made sure her bag was packed and wand at the ready, and apparated from her apartment to the safe-zone in Chelsea, right around the corner from Draco's home. Pulling her leather jacket tighter around herself, she hurried along the streets, braced against the impending wintry weather.

Hermione reached Draco's doorstep just as the first drops of rain began to fall. The door opened a minute after she knocked, Draco standing there and looking bewildered. She glanced at her watch and noticed it was just after eight on a Saturday morning, explaining the low slung pajama pants and his disheveled hair. She kept her eyes focused firmly on his face.

"Granger?" he asked. "Do you realize how early it is? What are you doing here?"

She didn't bother waiting for an invitation, instead pushing past him and into the front room. "Pansy sent me."

"Oh, Merlin. Of course she did," Draco said, running his hand over his face. "I need coffee before I can talk about her. I'd tell you to make yourself at home but apparently you're already doing a pretty good job of it."

She remained perched on the edge of her armchair, absently rolling her wand between her fingers during his absence. It took five minutes of impatience, wondering if she should just make a break for it and bolt out the front door, before Draco returned, dressed in sweatpants and a jumper, levitating two cups of coffee in front of him. She took her cup, not questioning how he knew how she took her coffee.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Granger?" Draco asked.

She looked into the depths of her cup. "Ron is dating someone else," she said, and vocalizing it made something shift inside her chest. "There was a picture of them in the Prophet this morning."

Draco blinked at her a few times. "So?"

Hermione forced herself to look him in the eye, refusing to let her gaze waver when she spoke. "So maybe I shouldn't feel as guilty as I do. As I _did_. Maybe I was wrong."

He gave a short laugh, humorless, and put his mug on the coffee table. "I never thought I'd see the day when Hermione Granger would admit that she was wrong."

"You're angry," she said.

"Of course I'm bloody angry, Granger." He stood up. "What, did you think I was going to be thrilled when you ran out on me after I thought we spent a great night together? That you didn't return any of my owls other than to tell me to leave you alone? That you were pining after that bloody redheaded prat even though your relationship had already ended? And that after wanting you for six years and after telling you things I've never told anyone else, you were alright with just getting up and running back to Weasley?"

She stood, mirroring his stance. "You think I was happy, Draco?" she asked. "You think I wanted to ignore you and suffer alone? Because I've been miserable. Because ignoring you, even though it felt like the right thing to do, was painful. It was difficult, and try as I might, I never stopped thinking about that night. Not really. So don't make out like it was easy for me, either."

"Shut up," he said.

"_What_? What did you-?"

"I said shut up."

Hermione wondered if he could hear her heart beating from across the room. She was certain it was going to beat its way right out of her chest, right into his hands, though she was loath to admit it was already halfway there. Draco took a step towards her, around the coffee table, long limbs enabling him to reach her in four strides.

"Why should I?" she asked.

"Why should you what?"

"Why should I shut up?"

He was standing in front of her now, looking down at her. By now, he must have been able to hear her heart. Its rhythm was all she could hear, blood rushing through her ears when she matched his gaze.

"Because I'm going to kiss you."

And he did. And it was wildfire through her veins, burning her from the inside out. Flames licked at her skin when Draco pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck. And even though they had spent so little time together, their bodies were attuned to one another. Their lips broke apart long enough to pull Draco's sweater over his head, abandoning it on the couch. Hermione's leather jacket and shirt were quick to follow before they sought each other out for another kiss, another fire through her bones.

In a quick move he lifted her, Hermione taking the hint and wrapping her legs around his waist. "Bed," was all he said, lips close to hers. The rational side of her brain wanted him to put her down, put their clothes back on, and sit and talk about this. But the much smaller, desire-soaked part of her brain apparently had taken over, making no objections when he carried her up the stairs, stopping every now and then to rest her back against the wall for a proper snogging.

The rest of their clothes were divested when they reached his bedroom, a slow peeling off of the garments. Draco had been faster, just a pair of sweatpants to lose, and he settled on the bed. Despite their previous rendezvous, Hermione struggled to look at him as she stripped off her jeans, standing in front of him in just a bra and knickers. Though the room was warm, she shivered under his gaze. Draco swallowed. She blushed.

"Come here," he instructed and there was a moment of hesitation before she moved. "_Hermione_."

There it was again. That strange sense of power he somehow managed to wield over her with just her name. A power no one else had ever possessed, it coursed through her body and she was turned to putty, following his instructions and approaching the bed. He sat at the foot and she stood between his legs, their eyes meeting.

"We don't have to," he said.

"I want to," she blurted out. "I'm just…shy."

Draco stood and she shifted back, allowing him the room to move. "Don't be shy," he said, voice low. He kissed the corner of her mouth, moved his lips to her chin, up her jaw. Hermione shook in his arms, certain her knees were ready to give out at any moment. "Please don't be shy."

When he pressed his lips to hers, she kissed back, pushing against him until his legs hit the foot of the bed and he fell back into a sitting position. Draco reached out but Hermione took a step back, instead reaching around and undoing the clasp on her bra. With a deep breath she let the material fall to the floor, keeping her eyes on Draco for his reaction. He leaned forward, this time too fast for her to move away, and pulled Hermione closer, down onto the bed with him.

They scooted back until Draco's head was on the pillow and Hermione was on top, feeling him press against her centre. He bucked when she ground down onto him, biting her lip.

"What have you done to me?" he asked, reaching up and pulling her down for another kiss to leave her breathless. His fingers found the edge of her knickers, a pair of black satin things that barely offered any coverage, and made quick work of tearing them until the fabric fell away. She would have been fit to complain if he hadn't flipped their positions until he hovered above her, slipping a finger into her warmth.

"Oh," was all she could manage and she lifted her hips from the mattress.

Draco was quick to oblige her silent demand, adding another finger, curling them at the right angle that made her see sparks behind her eyes. He ghosted the pad of his thumb over her clit, his other hand holding her hip down, restricting her movement and rendering him almost entirely in control. She thought she might combust with the intensity of it all.

"Hermione," he said, continuing the pumping of his fingers. She gripped the sheets tightly. "Look at me." It took a great deal of effort but she managed to open her eyes, finding him staring back at her. "Come for me."

Her release came over her in a wave, leaving her shaking on the bed. Her eyes had snapped shut again but she felt the mattress shift, whimpering when she thought Draco was going to leave her just as things had started to feel so good. But instead, she was greeted with little recovery from her orgasm when his head found a place between her thighs. His tongue offered a long lick of her slit, culminating in a flick against her clit, and she bucked her hips to follow the friction.

"Open your eyes for me," Draco instructed and she all but sobbed when he began to taste her fully. His eyes were focused on her face as he worked, Hermione struggling to keep his gaze as she writhed beneath his ministrations, climbing closer when his tongue found her clit once more, fingers buried inside her. Using his tongue, he traced small circles around the sensitive nub, moving away only to blow gently against the ball of nerves in a move that kept making her eyes flicker shut, unable to process all of the sensations.

Despite her sensitivity, Draco took his time in making her come. In repeated motions, he brought her to the brink, until her body shook beneath him and her fingers threaded his hair and she thought she might just explode if she didn't orgasm soon. Then, he would slow, move away, waiting until was far enough from release to begin again. But he was no sadist, and just when she was ready to weep with the frustration, he gave her clit a long swipe of his tongue that shot rockets right out of her chest. She was grateful for the privacy of a house, certain any neighbours in an apartment building would have been able to hear her cries. Sensation overtaking her body, Hermione fell, hard and fast, fingers grabbing the sheets for fruitless support as aftershocks continued through her body.

Once she recovered, breathing slow and even, she opened her eyes to see Draco lying beside her, propped up on one elbow.

"If this is how you take your anger out on me then I really can't complain," she said and Draco smirked.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself," he said and leaned over, kissing her. His tongue was salty, an unfamiliar taste, but she didn't mind, responding enthusiastically to his actions.

She reached down into the space between them, grasping Draco's length when she realised that despite all her pleasure, he still hadn't come. A breath of air hissed out between his teeth from the contact and he bucked his hips into her fist. With some maneuvering, Hermione was on top again, angling him at her entrance. It took a great deal of control for both of them as she teased the tip of his cock along her slit, her body already aching from her two orgasms, Draco's aching for a desperate release.

"Granger," he groaned when she repeated the action, inadvertently bumping against her clit with the head of his penis, making her jolt so he almost slipped between her lips. "Dammit, Hermione."

Looking down at him, his hands on her hips and fingers pushing almost painfully into her skin, she bit her lip, still refusing to sink down, still in control. It was remarkable to see Draco Malfoy so close to unraveling, to see him beneath her, writhing. Another teasing swipe pulled a growl from his chest.

"Dammit," he repeated. "I don't want to come like this."

She ran her hand up and down his length once, maintaining eye contact, before making sure the head of his cock was right at her entrance. Then, in a move that was agonizingly slow for the both of them, Hermione sunk down, filling herself up, both refusing to break the stare between them. When he was buried to the hilt, she lifted up until she was almost empty again, but Draco lost patience, his grip on her pulling until she slammed back down.

In a fast movement he flipped them over, that hot intimacy transformed into something wild as he thrust into her. "Oh gods," she repeated with each violent movement, clawing at his back, wanting him closer. Draco sped up, more friction than she thought possible, and reached down between them to play with her clit. Too sensitive from his previous actions, it took very little to make her come again, spasming around his cock as her released washed over her.

Moments into her orgasm, Draco joined her, filling her up with one more powerful thrust. "Fuck, _Hermione_," he said, and his arms shook as he struggled to support his weight. Neither moved for a short while, Draco remaining inside of her as her body quivered beneath him. She wanted more, just any sort of friction or contact, their sweat mingled against her skin, but her bones ached with fatigue.

"Okay?" Draco asked when he had finally eased himself out of her, kissing her eyelids when she winced. "Was I too rough?"

"No," she said. "No. It was…wow." She offered a weary laugh. "It was intense. The whole thing."

Draco gave her what she wanted, maintaining contact as he lay on his stomach, an arm across her chest whilst she lay on her back. Occasionally, they both trembled slightly. "Did you mean it, Hermione?" he asked and she tilted her head towards him.

"Mean what?"

"That you'll stay," he said. "If I close my eyes and wake up in a few hours, you'll still be here. You won't have run off back to-,"

"Draco," Hermione said, her bones heavy as she lifted an arm to brush her fingers along his cheek. "I really don't want to talk about anyone else right now."

He sighed, eyes closed. "You didn't answer my question. Will you stay?"

She considered making a joke, some witty remark to avoid the question and earn a smile, but her brain was shutting down and Draco's body beside hers was just too warm, lulling her. "I'll stay," she said instead. "I promise."

* * *

**A/N: Aw! It's done! There won't be an epilogue or a sequel as this was just meant to be a fun bit of fluffy smut rather than a proper story. I'm already working on my next multi-chap fic and it's going to be a big one, though I'm not sure when I'll get the first chapter out for you.**

**Let me know what you thought of IGBW in a REVIEW!**


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